


Do As I Say

by TarotJoie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, BDSM, Dom!Sansa, Don't Like Don't Read, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting, Light Dom!Jon, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking, Whipping, fair warning, mostly porn tho, porn with a little plot, so don't get too hung up, sub!Jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-04-08 10:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TarotJoie/pseuds/TarotJoie
Summary: Jon receives his sentence and decides he's perfectly fine with it. He'd rather be in exile, away from these hateful players and their vicious game. Especially Sansa. He's glad to be well rid of them all.The Queen in the North has other ideas.





	1. Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa visits Jon in his cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may turn into a multi-chapter, similarly themed, series of ficlets. Not really going to be much plot.

He wasn’t sure how long he'd been imprisoned when Tyrion delivered his sentence. He was to serve the realm in permanent exile. _Good_ , he thought. _Fuck this shit, I’m done._

Jon no longer cared about any of it. Not what he’d done, or failed to do. He sure as hell didn’t care what came next, as long as it wasn’t more of this honorable, heroic, savior in the darkness, prince that was promised, last best hope bullshit. He was done.

Fuck them, all of them. Fuck Tyrion, and Varys, and Davos, and Sam, and Jeor fucking Mormont, Tormund, all of them. And, while he’s at it, fuck Eddard Stark.

He still didn’t know why people chose to follow him, time and again, and he'd no longer try to know. All he knew was that it would not happen again, he wouldn’t let it, even if that meant getting himself a well-earned execution by whomever the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch was now. No more leading, no more fighting. If another end-of-days monster comes crawling out of the woods, Jon will gladly just let the nightmare defeat him.

Qhorin Halfhand’s words rose up in his ears then, like a ghost invading his dehydrated mind. _"I don’t want you to be glad about it! I want you to curse and fight until your heart's done pumping.”_

“Fuck off!” he yelled back.

His voice echoing off the stone walls, rather than just in his mind, caught Jon’s attention and he sat up. He shook his head, trying to pull it together. _Don’t start fucking talking to yourself now, bastard._ He stood and brushed his hands against his face as he started to pace, pressing out ideas of inherited insanity.

“That was rude.”

Jon froze, breathless at the sound of her voice. Then he dropped his hands away and saw her standing just inside the door of his cell. The sight of her made his empty stomach twist and burn. She was wearing her black leather armor, only, his eyes focused a little, it was different. He’d never seen this one before, she must have fashioned it new. And he would know. Every single detail of every single moment with her had spun around his mind on a constant loop these past… weeks? Months?

She stepped closer and he instinctively moved back, her tall shadow cast over his ragged form. The effect she had on him was instant, unfiltered, and unforgiving. He hated her. His eyes filled will a rage he couldn’t hide if he wanted to, not even in the shadows. 

And his cock filled too, a raw, spiteful reaction to what she knew all too well she did to him. _Let her see it. Let her damn me as she’s so cruelly longed to do. Fuck you too, Sansa._

“What do you want?”

“I’ve come to take you home, once you’ve bathed that is.”

She turned her nose up at his filthy state and secured her hands behind her back. He knew she was only pretending to be appalled at his accommodations when, really, she _reveled_ in feeling so superior. And the extension of her leather-strapped tits with her choice of stance was no accident, either.

“I thought I was being sent back to the Night’s Watch.”

Sansa just stared at him like he was stupid, then stepped back toward the door and nodded for the bath to be brought in.

“The Dothraki and the Unsullied both sailed for Essos at dawn,” she explained as the bath was drawn. “A Stark rules the North and a Stark rules the South. You let us know which one you’d rather have sign your pardon, although I’m sure I could guess.”

He stared at her silently as the servants finished filling his tub with hot water before they left. Then he pulled off his shirt, never taking his furious glare from her.

“Jon, you should wait until I leave!” she scoffed, but he didn’t stop undressing so she turned to go. As she reached the door she instructed, “Meet me at the shipyard when you’re through, and be quick about it.”

“I’m not going to Winterfell,” he stated coldly.

This stopped her in her tracks and she spun back around just as his nude form was entering the tub. He saw her eyes shift down instantly to his half-hard cock as he lowered himself into the water. He paused for moment, letting his erection linger at the surface until she was forced to look back at him, knowing she’d been caught. Then he rested his arms on the side of tub and lay back, closing his eyes in dismissal of her, though he could hear she’d already started to huff her inevitable argument.

Sansa shut the door and then crossed her arms in front of her this time. “You’re coming home,” she decreed.

He plunged his head under the water, scrubbing his face and hair in a blissful moment of silence, before lifting roughly back up, splattering the water intentionally with the hope she would back further away. Instead, he saw her emerge above him, standing at the foot of the bath looking down on him, her two thin braids trailing along either side of her neck. He wanted to twist them in his fingers, in his fists.

Jon finished washing himself and then stood, just as defiantly exposed and aroused, for the eyes of his once sister, for the eyes his betrayer and Queen. Tyrion was right about her. Sansa was smarter than she let on, always plotting behind his back, and now she’d gotten what she wanted. She was Queen and he would forever be subservient.

Her eyes stayed on his as he stepped out of the tub and walked toward her, ignoring the towel the servants had left for him. He waited, daring her to steal another look at his perverse threat, throbbing from the depraved thoughts feeding his resentment of her.

Then she did look, only she wasn’t stealing anything. Sansa lowered her eyes to his cock slowly, purposefully, as if she owned it.

A smirk hit the corner of her lips and it pushed him over the edge. He rushed for her, though she stood tall and unflinching, and when his hand wrapped around the chain of that garish necklace she always wore, she only parted her lips a little.

He twisted another loop of the chain around his fist, pulling the silver ring taut as it clanged against the metal direwolves armoring her throat. It didn’t choke her but it did draw her face closer to his, and then he pulled her roughly by the hip until she was against him, his cock pressed threateningly into her skirt, his clenched hand shaking with fury as the chain dug into his knuckles.

Sansa simply licked the rim of her lower lip and whispered, “Jon, get your hands off me.”

He snarled hatefully and then released her, moving to retrieve the towel. “I’m not going.”

“You are.”

She watched him drying his body, seemingly no longer concerned with propriety. Then, sighing with an air of irritation, she stepped toward him at a speed that would have caused him to drop the towel had she not pulled it from his hand. Jon looked at her, dumbfounded. Then he gasped as his perfect princess of a sister, the Queen in the North, the honorable trueborn daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, grabbed him by the cock.

“Sansa, what are you, uuungh!” He lurched as she squeezed him harder, silencing him for good.

Jon just watched her now, terrified and hard as a rock. She stared at him with the viciousness her mother once had when she would watch him in the yard. He wondered what Lady Stark would think of her beautiful Sansa’s hand on his bastard cock, but the thought left him as she started to move up and down, stroking him, hard and dry. This was no tepid exploration, she was on a mission. She jerked him expertly, relentlessly, and he fell back against the tub for balance.

“Listen to me,” she warned, moving her hand methodically. “You are coming home with me. To Winterfell. You’ve fucked things up enough, Jon. So, from now on, you do as I say.”

Jon stared at her, his mouth gaping, his balls tightening. All he could do was nod before he started spurting in a hot release that made him groan, almost in pain. Sansa squeezed the last of his seed from his aching cock and then released him. He watched in stunned silence as she washed her hand in the tub.

"Now, as you seem to have finished with your little display, please get dressed. I'd like to leave as soon as possible." Sansa dried her hands on the towel and left the room without another glance.

He arrived at the docks soon after. Sansa was waiting beside Arya and Bran, poised without a hint of what she'd done to him revealed in her stony face. After he said his goodbyes to his little brother and sister, he followed Sansa to the ship, already growing hard again with the anticipation of what might come next.


	2. Kneel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa begins her lessons with Jon.

Jon sits in his chamber, avoiding her, when two guards enter unannounced. He scowls at them and defensively rises to his feet. 

“Queen Sansa requires your presence at dinner,” one of them states officially. “She asks that you dress appropriately.”

“Appropriately,” he mocks, nodding to himself. He puts his hands on his hips to keep from reaching for his weapon and sniffs. “Please tell _Queen_ Sansa that I’ll eat when I want, wearing what I want, stark _fucking_ naked if I want, and if she doesn’t like it–”

***

Sansa remains seated on her throne as the guards bring him to her, his hands bound behind his back, his lip bleeding. They shove him forward, causing him to fall to his knees, but he quickly pulls himself to his feet again, eyeing his captors with a threatening rage. 

“That will be all, thank you.” Sansa nods and all of the guards exit the hall, leaving them alone. He turns to her, anger radiating off his skin, while she remains quite cool. “Jon, we need to talk.”

“Talk? Sansa, my hands are tied.”

“You threatened the Queen.”

“Bullshit. If I’m such a threat why did you dismiss all your guards?” He pulls at his restraints and Sansa stands, moving toward him with all of the composure he lacks in this moment. “So, am I your prisoner now, is that it?” 

She moves even closer and Jon suddenly stops struggling. He watches cautiously as she stands a few inches from him, her face unreadable and powerful. Then she lifts her hand and with her middle finger touches the blood dripping from his swollen lip, pressing hard enough to make him wince. 

“Would you like to be?” she asks as she examines the stain on her finger. “The last two women who touched your cock both held you prisoner. Perhaps you’ve developed an association?”

He only sneers at her, and then she moves behind him. Jon feels something cold and hard press against his wrist, stilling there for a moment as if to prove a point – or give a warning – then he hears a sharp ripping and his hands fall free. 

Rubbing his wrists, he avoids her eyes as she walks back around him but sees the needle on her necklace fall back down into place.

“Now, as I said, we need to talk.” Sansa returns to her throne and Jon stands before her, meeting her stare again and bringing his hands together behind his back, as if he were still bound. “From here on, you will behave in accordance with your representation of House Stark during any and all interactions with the public.”

“The public?” He narrows his glare.

“That’s right. Lords, ladies, guards, smallfolk, soldiers. You will not dishonor yourself in their presence.”

“What about in your presence?” he asks boldly, taking a step closer. He knows what she’s doing, why she brought him here, and he wants her to get on with it. “Am I to dishonor myself before you when the _public_ is not around?”

“If it pleases me.”

He studies her but her expression remains fixed, revealing nothing to him. So, he drops his hands to his sides and takes another step forward to provoke her. “And what does please you, Sansa?”

“Kneel!” she commands suddenly. The order is echoing and sharp and she stares at him now with the eyes of a wolf, her lip threatening to curl back on bared teeth as she waits for him to obey. 

Jon halts his step, completely taken aback by the bark in her voice, and all notions of challenging her further abandon him. Blood rushes to his groin and he lowers himself to his knees, never taking his eyes off of hers.

“From this day forth, you will accompany me at dinner, attend all council meetings, and contribute to the restoration of our kingdom in any way that is required of you.” 

“ _Our_?” His question just slips out, a response of genuine surprise rather than a challenge. All the same, her sneer of disapproval at the interruption silences him again.

Sansa continues, “Until I decide otherwise, you will report to me in my chambers each night before retiring to your own. During that time you will receive... instruction, under my tutelage.” 

Jon lifts an eyebrow in confusion, but remains quiet. Sansa watches him a while longer, until she seems satisfied with his compliance. Then she softens slightly, sighing and glancing to the side as if to gather her thoughts. When she speaks to him again, her voice is almost comforting.

“I know you don’t want to rule, Jon. Especially not now. Still, I need you beside me.”

He flinches a little and bites the inside of his mouth to keep from reacting further, moving his eyes to the floor. This is not what he’d hoped to discuss.

“You’ve been through a lot.” She stands then and slowly makes her way back to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, but he keeps his gaze lowered. “I understand you don’t want to be in command. I’m not asking you to be.”

Jon finally looks up at her from his knees. Her eyes peer down at him and her hand shifts to his face, holding him gently as her thumb strokes his cheek. 

“I’ll be in command now, Jon. Let me do that for you, for as long as you need it.” 

He nearly wants to cry but instead he takes a deep breath, releasing it along with the weight he’s carried for so long. Then he bows his head again and whispers, “Thank you, Your Grace.” 

Sansa dismisses him and he returns to his room, his head spinning from the encounter. Once he’s alone he takes himself in hand at the memory of her words, the way she towered over him as he knelt, her scent as her body grew closer to his face. His spend comes quickly and he takes a moment to wash, splashing cold water on his face as he contemplates the possibilities that await him tonight in her chambers. 

***

When he arrives, she lets him in and nods to her guards. Jon looks back and sees them vacating her corridor as the door falls closed behind her. He waits, slightly embarrassed at his obvious anticipation. He’d dressed in a clean tunic and a pair of breeches he’s never battled in before. He’d even attempted to smooth his hair somewhat in preparation. Now, it’s all making him feel like a fool. 

But Sansa ends the awkwardness of their meeting before it can even be acknowledged. She is ready to begin and gets right to it.

“When you enter my chamber, you will take your place on your knees until I’ve told you otherwise.” 

Jon obeys instantly, lowering himself down, and Sansa nods her approval. Then she stalks around him slowly as she continues.

“You will not touch me unless instructed. You will not touch yourself unless granted permission. If I ask you a question, you will answer immediately and truthfully, always. You will do as you are told and if you refuse to obey, you will be punished.” Jon swallows and watches as Sansa stops in front of him, leaning down so that her lips are brushing his ear. “And most importantly, you will not release your seed until I command it. Do you understand?”

Jon nods, his throat dry and heart pounding. 

Sansa stands tall above him again. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he chokes coarsely. “I understand.”

“Good.” Jon watches her, trembling, as she lifts her foot to his lap, settling her heel firmly against his pulsing crotch. “Now, unlace my boots and remove them. But remember, Jon,” she places a finger under his chin, ordering his eyes back to hers, “You’re not to touch me.”


	3. Obey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa teaches Jon restraint.

When Jon finishes unlacing and removing Sansa's boots, careful not to touch her, he waits patiently on his knees for her next command. She looks down at him and he stares back into her blue eyes. For a moment, the blue is all he can see, it’s all that is real for him. Then she moves to stand before the floor-length mirror beside her wardrobe.

He watches as she unhooks the chain of her necklace from her belt, then slides the heavy metal ring down, pulling the needle free through it. Then she hangs it gently on a hook inside the closet. 

“Come,” she orders in a deep tone, pulling her hair away from her back and over one shoulder. “Remove my armor, Jon.” 

Rising to his feet again, he steps behind her. They glance at each other through her mirror for a moment, then he starts to pull at the laces holding the leather bodice to her chest. The tight armor releases around her ribs as Jon works his way up from her lower back. Then, when the leather loosens from her breasts and shoulders, Jon carefully lifts it away from her body without grazing her skin or the dress she wears beneath it. 

He moves to place the armor on the shelf of her wardrobe, then she turns to face him as she begins to open the clasps of her gown. 

“Sansa…” he whispers in astonishment as he watches. 

She continues to work open the clasps until it too loosens completely. Watching him, she pulls the gown open and slips it off, revealing a ribbed corset and silk smallclothes that are tied with ribbons to her stockings. Sansa neatly hangs her dress in the wardrobe, taking her time, then moves to the small bench at her vanity and sits. 

Jon continues to watch, but Sansa doesn’t do anything at first. Then, when the anticipation is nearly too much, she lifts one of her hands and points to the floor in front of her. Jon takes his place on his knees again immediately, his cock growing harder by the moment. His eyes comb over her until she lifts one leg across the other and begins to untie the ribbons at the top of her stocking. Now his gaze is focused and unmoving on her fingers. She opens the tie on the outside of her thigh, then uncrosses her legs and spreads them just enough for Jon to lose his breath. There is another tie on her inner thigh and before long it is opened as well. 

He glances at her face, seeing her expression as stony as ever, before lowering his eyes back to her incredible, long legs as she crosses them the other way to repeat the process. Outer tie, then the last ribbon between her thighs. As she lets the ties fall loose, Jon see her graze her hand along the naked skin between the end of her stockings and the start of her smallclothes. The stockings are fully separated now, with strips of silk hanging from them on either side of her thighs. 

Then, Jon gasps as she brings one of her feet back to his crotch. Her toes glide along his erection, rubbing back and forth a few times, before pressing firmly against him for balance. 

“Remove my stockings,” she orders quietly. “But you may only touch the ribbons.”

Jon takes a deep breath, closing his eyes in torture for a moment as the pressure of her foot against his cock makes him feel like he could come right then, right in his breeches, without any further motion. Then he lifts his trembling hands by her thigh, desperate for just one feel of her skin, but only takes the ribbons with his fingers. He slowly glides the first stocking down, exposing the flesh of her thigh, then past her knee and down her smooth calf. When he gets to her ankle, she lifts the pressure from his cock and he slips the last of it off her foot. 

He caresses the material as he sets the first stocking aside. If nothing else, he hopes some of her scent may rub off on his hands so that he can sniff them later when he's back in his room. When Sansa brings her other foot to his lap, she continues rubbing his cock as he begins pulling the silk ribbons. This makes the task far more difficult. 

“Remember,” she tells him as her foot pushes along his length, “you're not to come unless I give you permission.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he growls as his hands continue to pull the stocking past her knee. It takes everything he has, every ounce of concentration, to prevent himself from thrusting back against her as she rubs him. As such, when he gets to her ankle he is so overwhelmed by the relief as she lifts her foot that he accidentally skims her heel as he pulls the stocking free.

He knows he’s done it the moment it happens. The touch of her skin against his, even the barest of graze between her heel and his palm, burns through him with the heat of a thousand flames. Sansa stands above him, angered, and he peers up at her apologetically. The entire interaction so far has his head spinning and he tries to form words, any words, but they all fall back down his dry throat. 

“Jon, you have disgraced yourself and I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed me. Now get up.” 

He does, with equal parts terror and intrigue. Jon is eager to see what she will do to him, only fearing that his punishment will be that this night has to end. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to be heading in that direction, although she does move away from him rather dismissively. 

Sansa looks at herself in the mirror, running the fingers of one hand slowly through her hair. “Take off your clothes,” she tells him, almost bored. “And be quick about it.”

As Jon strips down, Sansa keeps her eyes on herself in the mirror. When he’s finished she turns back to him, looking him in the eyes without so much as a glance down his form. Then, keeping her eyes locked on his, she opens a drawer in her vanity and removes a pair of thin leather gloves. 

“Get on the bed,” she orders as she begins to put on the gloves. “On your knees.”

Jon isn’t quite sure what she means, but he isn’t about to question her either, so he climbs onto the bed and kneels in the same position he’s been assuming throughout the evening, sitting back on his heels. He sees her from the corner of his eye as she moves closer, pulling the last glove into its tight fit around her hand. 

Standing beside the bed, Sansa examines him with disapproving eyes. “Bend over, head down, ass toward me.” Her words are so calm, yet every sound from her lips sends another rush through his body. Jon obeys, far too intoxicated to feel at all strange when he assumes the position she desires. He rests his elbows on the mattress, lowering his head between them, and lifts his ass slightly off of his heels. He is completely vulnerable, completely exposed to her, and completely aroused. 

He feels her gloved hands touch him on his lower back, the sensation causing him to suck in air, then he suppresses a moan as the soft leather glides down further. She squeezes the round curves of his ass and then lifts him even higher. Jon wants to look back at what she is doing, but the anticipation of being touched without knowing where or when is exhilarating so he keeps his forehead pressed to the furs. 

Her hands release the grip they have on his cheeks, then he feels two fingers trace down between them, following the line of his crevice. The sensation makes his cock jump as she touches his asshole, pressing against it slightly, before continuing down to the skin just below until she grazes the far back stretch of his sac. Her fingers are halted, as he has his legs pressed together, shielding his cock and balls from her reach. 

“Spread your legs,” she commands and he does. 

Reaching between his thighs, Sansa brings her hand to his cock. She grips him, causing him to finally release the moan he’d been holding, and then she pumps him in her fist just long enough to bring him nearly over the edge, then releases him again. Her open hand slides back along his length and when she reaches his balls she cups them firmly in her grasp. She pulls them back until they are pressed against his perineum, his cock now tilted down toward the bed.

“Close them,” she commands again, and he closes his legs between his cock and balls. 

The position leaves him even more vulnerable, his balls now exposed to her from behind, and the tug of his sac begins to hurt. Then he feels one glove caress down the flesh of his ass again.

“It is important that you obey me, Jon.” SMACK 

He gasps and moves forward slightly with the shock of what she has just done. The slap didn’t exactly cause pain, only a light sting, but it was so unexpected that he responded automatically. However, he immediately moves back into the position she demanded of him when he recovers from the jolt. Her glove moves to the other cheek.

“Your cock is so hard, Jon, so angry. I’ve sent my guards away. If you don’t obey me, how am I to trust that you won’t just try and ravish me like every other beast that likes to call himself a man, hmm?” SMACK

Jon groans. This time she hit him harder, but the sting only turns him on more. 

SMACK “I asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry,” he moans into the furs. “I would never do that Sans- Your Grace. You can trust me, I promise. I’ll obey.”

SMACK This time her strike is right down the middle, slapping him squarely on his balls. Jon bites the furs to keep from screaming. 

“Are you certain about that?” SMACK “The last time you had your cock out in my presence, you looked rather threatening. What was it you wanted to do then?” SMACK “You remember, don’t you? Back when you were in that stinking prison cell.” SMACK

“AHH,” he cries out finally. The pain is intense now, but he is loving every second of it. “I’m sorry,” he tries. “I didn’t mean –” SMACK

“Tell the truth, now. What had you hoped to do with that big angry cock of yours, Jon?”

“Sansa, please…” SMACK “Arrgh. I wanted to take you, to fuck you!” Jon pants, waiting for another blow but it doesn’t come just yet. “I wouldn’t have done it, you have to believe me.”

“But you wanted to.”

“Gods, yes.” 

“Why?” 

“I was angry, angry with everyone. Angry with you.”

“Angry with me for…”

Jon continues to pant against the bed, his breath pushing the wisps of fur back and forth. SMACK “Shit! I… I hated the way I felt around you. You were always making me ache for you, making me want to touch you and… and to love you. I always felt it, every time you were near me. Even in that place, even after everything… I knew I could never have you, not the way I really wanted. And I hated you for it.”

He keeps his head lowered, bracing for the next strike as the shock of what he’d just confessed starts to sink in. “I’d never hurt you Sansa, please believe me. I’m sorry.”

Jon flinches when her hand falls on him again, but it is only out of instinct as her touch is now gentle. Her hand soothes over the sting on his ass and then she grazes her fingers softly along his balls. This is almost worse. The stimulation she is causing against his sensitive skin has his entire body twitching. Then she removes her touch from him completely.

“You may lay on your back, now.” 

He feels lightheaded as he lifts himself up, then he turns to look at her, desperate to know her thoughts about what he’d said. She doesn’t tell him though. Instead, she stands at attention with her gloved hands clasped together behind her back as she waits for him to change positions. 

Laying back on the bed, his erection juts upward toward his stomach and Jon feels the sudden urge to cover himself. He wouldn’t have been able to if he’d tried though, as she moves toward him and lifts his arms one by one, tying them to the bedpost with her stockings she’d retrieved from the floor.

“I believe you’d never hurt me, Jon. Still, I’m just not sure I can trust that you will keep your hands to yourself. You’ve failed once already.” He keeps watching her as she completes her task, wondering what she has planned now. When she’s finished securing his wrists above him, Jon’s eyes bulge as she lifts herself onto the bed, onto him.

Her knees come to rest astride him as she hovers above his body, the skin of her inner thighs resting against his hips. 

“But otherwise, you have done very well tonight.”

She brings her gloved hands down to rest on his chest and he lifts her in a wave with his breath. 

“Perhaps you can have a little reward.”

Jon watches, his mouth hanging open, as she lowers herself until the silk of her smallclothes comes into contact with his cock. He groans desperately, but keeps his body still. He even tries holding his breath so that he doesn’t risk pushing against her. Whatever she intends to do, he’ll never forgive himself if she ends it because he can’t restrain himself.

Sansa presses down further until her hot center pushes his length flat against his gut and Jon releases his breath in a sharp hiss. “Mmmm… such a hard man. You must be aching to come.” 

Jon squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as she starts to rock her hips in a long, slow motion back and forth along his cock. 

“Is that right, Jon?”

He nods.

“Tell me.”

“I want to come, Sansa, I need it. Oh gods, _please_. Please let me come.”

She starts moving faster and he can feel her smallclothes becoming wet against his cock. Then she leans her body forward, pressing her stomach against his, her breasts threatening to spill from the top of her tight bodice onto his chest. Sansa brings her lips to his ear as she continues to thrust against him, her breath starting to quicken as well.

“First, your Queen must be satisfied. I’ll allow you to come, but only once I've taken my pleasure.” Her tongue teases the tip of his earlobe, eliciting another moan of desperation, and then she lifts herself up once again. “Do you understand?”

Jon nods frantically. “Yes, Your Grace. I understand.” 

Sansa leans back, balancing herself with one hand planted behind her on his leg. Her other hand pulls his cock back against her cunt and she holds it there as she continues to ride him. She licks her lips as her hips start to glide more steadily and Jon watches in awe as she pleasures herself using his body.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he accidentally says aloud. To his relief, the comment only results in a smile from her as she closes her eyes and rocks harder. 

Her breathing starts to get quicker, and she moans softly.

“You have such a pretty cock, Jon.” Her gloved hand begins to stroke him as she continues to rub against him. “So big and hard, so smooth.”

“It’s yours, my Queen. Always.” 

Sansa begins to whine, her peak edging closer and closer, her smallclothes soaked through with her desire. “Mmmm… you’re such a good… ahh, oh fuck, oh Jon!” 

Her hips start to buck violently as she presses him into her harder, then she releases an echoing cry as he feels her cunt start to pulse against him through her silks. 

“Please,” he begs. “Sansa, please!”

“Yes,” she moans through her orgasm. “Yes, Jon. Now!” 

He practically screams, finally lifting his hips against her as his cock begins to shoot streams of hot cum with wild abandon. He stains her everywhere with his seed, her fine leather gloves, her silk smallclothes, her corset. One spurt even hits the bare skin of her chest and he watches it drip down between her breasts as their bodies continue to convulse in the last waves of their release. 

When she finally comes down from her peak, Sansa releases her grip on his cock and lifts herself from the bed. Still panting, he watches as she removes her gloves and then cleans herself in silence at the wash basin before pulling on a robe. Then she returns to him and unties his numb hands without speaking a word. 

Jon waits a moment longer for her to say something, but when she doesn’t he stands and pulls his clothes from the floor, quietly dressing. Then she moves to her door and opens it, signaling the end of their lesson. He moves toward her, feeling lost and confused. He wants to stay, to be with her for the rest of the night, holding her in his arms. But she’s made it clear she wants him to go, so he will. 

Just as he passes her by though, she stops him with a delicate hand, now bare, against his chest. Then she presses her lips softly to his cheek for a moment, a touch more invigorating than all the rest. He smiles at her, softly and just slightly, then he goes.


	4. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lessons continue and Jon learns to control himself.

When he arrives to her room the following night, he is already fully erect. He’d struggled with his arousal all day, actually. She hadn’t been in the hall when he broke his fast, as she often took her meal early in her office so as to get a head start on the day’s work. He admired that about her. In fact, he admired everything about the way she ruled her kingdom. 

Thinking about his admiration for her as he tried to eat his bacon made him hard. Thinking about her as he trained with the men in the yard, wishing she’d come to the balcony and watch, that made him hard too. But seeing her at the council meeting that afternoon as she made decrees and heard from her subjects had made him the hardest yet. Then, sitting beside her at supper, close enough to breathe in her scent, he’d nearly come inside of his breeches. 

He had to take himself in hand four times that day, and yet as he kneels before her now, hands crossed in his lap for discretion, his cock stands tall once again like a man deprived when really he was a glutton. 

“Move aside,” Sansa orders as the point of her boot pushes the inside of his elbow. 

Jon’s hands fall to his sides and his shameful state is revealed to her. He glances up to see the disapproving frown stretched across her lips, then he returns his eyes to her feet. 

“Jon, that won’t do. I need you more focused tonight as we’ve only just begun your proper training. Take care of it.” 

His face snaps up to her again in confusion, but she’s moving away. As she takes a seat at her vanity she adds, “and don’t make a mess on my rug.” 

Watching her in silence as she begins to unravel her braids, Jon slowly opens the laces at his crotch. She isn’t wearing her armor tonight. Instead she is in a thin robe the deep color of wine. As her auburn waves fall through her fingers, spreading down her shoulders, blending with the waves of red silk across her back, Jon begins to slide his hand up and down his shaft. 

His eyes bore into her from behind, fixating on the silhouette of her sides. He's dying to know what she wears underneath that robe. He studies the thin belt at her waist, trying to see the rigid lines of a corset or the pillowing of a shift, but all he can see is the smooth curve of her hips, the definition of her back, and the small, centered crease of the fabric folding between her cheeks where she comes to rest on the bench.

Jon spills into his hand, groaning, and then cleans himself with his shirttail. 

“Good,” she affirms. Her voice is low and she is still facing away from him, stroking the ends of her hair with a soft-bristled brush. “Now take off your clothes and lay on the bed with your face up.” 

He obeys, keeping his eyes on her as he strips, and as he moves toward the bed he catches sight of her face in the small mirror sat on her vanity. She lifts her glance to him for a brief second, making his chest fill and his mouth go dry. There is something so arresting about those blue eyes, he thinks, like she can levitate him into a sanctified embrace with only her stare. 

When he is positioned on the bed he keeps himself slightly lifted on his elbows for a moment before dropping down to his back and turning his face toward the canopy, losing sight of her at last. It takes a moment before she comes to him and so he concentrates on the soft sounds she is making, her breathing, the tap of her hairbrush as she returns it to the table, the scoot of the bench as she moves to stand. 

Jon is already recovering from his spend and his cock lays heavy against his hip, though not quite hard and certainly not distractingly on edge. He finds he is grateful she’d made him do what she did, as humiliating as it was. Now he is more able to take in the details of each moment, savoring them patiently without feeling like an eager green boy, desperate to empty his balls at the first hint of stimulation. 

He feels her hand, now gloved in leather, as it closes around his ankle and the surprise of her touch makes him flinch a bit. But he does not raise his head to look at her, as he believes she would not want that, and her instruction of “face up” continues ringing through his ears. Besides, as with last time, it gave him a rush to feel what she was doing to him without seeing it coming first. 

She moves his foot so that it is pointed toward the bedpost, his leg stretching out to one side. Then something circles around the back of his heel, only it is not soft and sheer like her stockings, but rough and thick. Leather. With a sharp rasp, the restraint tightens and his foot is raised off the bed a couple of inches. The strap is tight but not uncomfortable, and his leg is locked in place. His hands are at his side and his fingers dig into the furs beneath him as she replicates the process on his other foot. 

Once both legs are secured, strapped and slightly elevated, he finally lifts his head to take in the sight of himself. He is spread wide, the muscles along his inner thighs stretching in ways he is not used to even from riding a horse. Instinctively he tries to move his legs, to bend his knees or shift them closed, but it is impossible. He doesn’t struggle against it though, he is only curious about the limitations she is placing on him. 

A smile teases the corners of his mouth as he looks back at her, standing beside her work proudly, and she twitches one eyebrow at him. He knows she is feeling cocky and yet she is so good at keeping her expression under control. 

Jon decides that while she plays her games with him, he will play one of his own. He will obey her, do as she commands – whatever she commands – and bring her pleasure without paying any mind to his own. But before the night is through, she will break for him too. He will get her to drop her façade, at least once, and expose something to him she hadn’t intended to. He is going to steal her secrets from her, starting tonight. 

Sansa moves around the side of the bed and as she does, her fingers glide across his skin as torturously light as feathers. She begins at the strap around his ankle and travels up his shin, then across his knee and higher, cruelly coming just close enough to his cock for him to feel it shift as she dips her fingers into the flesh of his thigh. 

Her touch lightens again and continues up his body, over his hip and waist and ribs. She grazes his nipple, causing him to inhale and arch slightly, the rise of his chest forcing a press against her fingers she hadn’t approved. She pressed back, hard, forcing him back down flat with a bruising jab of his teat. 

Then she takes his hand – impatiently, ungracefully – and yanks it toward the post of the headboard where another leather strap waits to secure him in place. He wonders if she is angry with him, angry in the way he craves, but as she makes her way around to other side of the bed and secures his last restraint, her face remains just as composed as ever, perhaps even more so. 

When she’s finished locking him in place, spread eagle and stretched tight, she set her gaze upon him again and sees the smirk now blatantly painted across his lips. Still, she does not change her expression. Instead, she grabs him by the face, her grip strong and painful against his jaw, forcing his cheeks between his teeth inside his mouth. The smirk disappears and his eyes widely focus on her as she jerks his face toward her. 

“I see you need to learn respect. Or do you find these lessons to be amusing?” 

Jon shakes his head as best he can against her hold. 

“Your Queen has chosen to sacrifice her valuable time to provide your instruction, as you are clearly in need of discipline and guidance. I would expect you to take this more seriously. Though, I suppose you do lack adequate self-control, and so perhaps I shouldn’t have expected you to be capable of more. Still, I had hopes for you Jon.” 

He watches her carefully as she looks over his body, and then brings her disappointed eyes back to his pleading ones. Then her grip around his face loosens and she lays her hand flat and gentle against his cheek.

“Have I made a mistake?”

“No,” he whispers seriously, desperately. “Forgive me, Your Grace.” 

She sighs and strokes his cheek softly with her thumb. “I’ll need you to do better. Can you do that for me, Jon?”

He nods, swallowing and feeling his blood flow down into his cock. “Yes, I promise. Please don’t give up on me.”

Sansa blinks, and he thinks he sees a flash of something, but then it is gone before he can be sure. She steps back and he keeps his face pointed toward her, taking in her full form. The silky robe she wears parts between her legs as she walks toward a dark corner of her room and he can see where her boots meet the naked skin on her legs, midway up her shins. The black leather covering her feet matches the cover of her hands, and as she reaches up to take something from a shelf, her sleeve falls back on her arm to reveal the gloves she wears tonight come midway to her elbow as well. Apart from these protective barriers to her flesh, the robe seems to be all she has on. 

When Sansa returns to him she is holding something, though he’s not sure what, exactly. It looks like wrapped strips of leather in some sort of bundle, but she has it lowered by her side and he can’t quite get a good look. Jon stretches his neck a bit more and Sansa tilts her body so the object moves out of sight completely. Then he returns his gaze to her face to find her disapproving of him again. 

He lays back on the pillow beneath him, face up once more, and waits patiently for her to do as she intends. Then she moves closer, standing beside his head so he can see her, and she runs her fingers rewardingly through his hair. She doesn’t say anything, but he knows he’s done well. 

Still stroking his curls with one gentle hand, she brings the other above him to reveal what it is she holds. Her fingers release the wrapped strips, now holding only the handle of what he realizes is a scourge. Jon swallows as the cascade of leather unfurls above him, the ten-inch tails of the whip brushing against his chest in a whisper. 

His eyes move back to her hand, holding a shaft that resembles the size and shape of a cock. Even the tip is rounded. The grip is black, like all the leather she currently possessed, only it has a hardness and shine to it, as though it were made of some smooth stone, perhaps even glass. 

“Are you afraid?” she whispers into his ear and Jon gasps a little, not having realized she moved so close. 

“A bit,” he confesses, still examining the tool she keeps displayed for him. 

Sansa sees his cock twitch against his hip and she smirks, moving the scourge down his body so the tips of its tail lightly grazing along his chest and stomach before teasing his erection. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll start slow… _tonight_.” He isn’t sure if it is a comfort or a threat. “Are you aroused?”

“Yes,” he hisses roughly. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“Please don’t.”

“You know what this is, what it can do.” It isn’t a question but he nods anyway, still watching as she moves the flogger across his body, along his ribs, against his nipples, down his legs and between them. “Have you ever been scourged, Jon?”

He shakes his head, then remembers to speak, saying, “No, Your Grace.”

“It can be quite painful, depending on the strength of the blow. Cruel masters in the East often rip the flesh from their slaves when they get angry enough. But I find, in the right hands,” she lifts the object up, admiring it as she speaks, “it can be quite an effective tool for discipline.”

The hand in his hair leaves him and she stands back, stretching the long length of leather strips out, twisting them into a tight rope. 

“What do you think, Jon? Should I put this to use on you, mark your pretty pale skin with licks from my whip to teach you obedience?”

“If it please, Your Grace.”

His words unexpectedly make her flinch, and Jon watches her closely but she gathers herself again quickly. Then she makes him flinch too as she lifts herself onto the bed beside him. The silk at her knees parts and he sees a dark flash of auburn curls before she pulls it closed again, tucking the material securely between her legs. Holding it in place, she then straddles his ribs, facing her back to his gaze as she remains extended up on her knees. 

The curve of her hips, the round of her ass, they are so close to him now and he breathes in deeply, hoping to reach her scent if not her touch. Her knees are the only thing making contact with him as of yet, though it is not her skin he feels but the silk of her robe. Sansa’s heeled boots rest beside him, pointing toward him threateningly, but all he has eyes for now is her ass. 

Without warning, as he’d been too distracted to see her arms raise, a blow whips across his outer thigh, causing him to jerk against his restraints as he sucks in a sharp breath. She hadn’t struck him hard, practically just allowing the tails to fall against him, but the surprise of it ignited his skin even more than the slight sting now heating his leg.

“So sensitive,” she teases, running the whip softly over the area she’d hit. “I thought you were tougher than that.”

“Give me another try,” he pleads. “I can do better.”

Sansa lifts the tails in her hand again and this time he tries to prepare himself. She flings the leather down across his other thigh, with just a bit more strength. The sensation sends a burning from his thigh to his groin but he remains still, moaning softly in response. Sansa sees his cock filling more, stretching longer and heavier across his hip. 

She hits him again, harder, twice more on each side until he hisses at the pain. Then she aims at the inside of his legs where the skin is softer, more sensitive to the assault. As she whips him she marvels at the welts that begin to puff along his pale thighs and he observes her silk-covered ass clench in response to his grunts. Then he sees her lift the leather once more and she drops it flat across his balls. 

“Fuck,” he howls, his breath quickening against the pain. She stills above him, waiting for him to recover, and when he does he whispers, “Again, please…”

Another flick across his balls sends a choking jolt to his gut and he groans, then winces as she brushes the tails lightly against his searing skin. 

“Very good,” she tells him softly. 

Jon pulls in his stomach as she moves, but rather than striking him again she lifts herself up, standing above him on the bed, her boots pressed deep into the furs by his sides. Then she steps into the space between his spread leg and turns to face him before lowering to her knees again. 

He watches her closely and she drapes the leather strips across his cock, bringing the scourge down to rest as she places the handle of the whip on the bed just to the side of his spread open ass. The weight of the leather presses his growing cock flat against his body, securing him like thick armor. 

No longer holding the whip, Sansa leans back on her heels and stares at him until his eyes move from his own crotch back to her face. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Jon.” 

He swallows, not wanting to disobey, but warns, “It might offend, Your Grace.”

“Tell me anyway.” 

“I’m thinking about how much I want to touch you, to feel your skin and look upon your body. I know I’m unworthy, and I am grateful to feel you through leather alone if that is your wish. I’m unworthy of even that, and still…”

“Still, your bastard lust makes you ache to defile your sister’s naked skin with your touch. Is that right?”

Jon nods, shifting the heavy leather laid upon his cock. 

“How depraved,” she scolds with a tut of her tongue. “And do you think of these depravities when you take your cock in hand, Jon? Do you imagine your sweet sisters body as you come?” Sansa shifts her knees apart a few inches, causing her robe to split just slightly. She lifts a hand to her chest and runs one leathered finger along her collar and down between her hidden breasts. 

“Yes,” he growls, sweat beading at his hairline now. “I imagine it every night, and throughout the day, too. I came four times just today before even entering your chambers. Then once more on my knees at your command. Always thinking of you, only you, my Queen. Your beautiful body.”

“But Jon, you’ve not seen my body, not fully anyway. How can you conjure an image of something you do not know?” Her finger moves lower along her belly and the fabric wrapping her chest falls open a little, revealing a hint of her cleavage to him.

“I try,” he replies slowly, his eyes now fixed on the slice of bare skin between her breasts, “to.. to imagine what you might look like, to remember the way your dresses fall over your curves and the pale soft flesh that I can often only peek at your neck. I imagine you even fairer beneath where your clothes shield you from the sun.”

“And once I’m naked for you in your fantasies, once my body is laid bare for you, what do you do with it, Jon?” 

Each time his name falls from her lips, he feels a rush of heat course through his cock. “All manner of things, Sansa.” Her name tastes sweet in his mouth and he wonders if it sends any heat through her. 

“Such as…” Her hand reaches her belt and she strokes it back and forth where it is tied.

“Tasting your cunt,” he blurts without dignity. “Drinking from the pool between your thighs until I no longer feel like I’ll die of this thirst.” 

Sansa’s fingers still against the knot she’d been teasing and he knows he is not imagining her breath grow heavier. 

“I imagine using my mouth on your tits, as well. Suckling at them like a babe, teasing your stiffened nipples with my teeth and tongue.”

He sees her move her fingers again, only more deliberately now, and soon her belt falls lose around her hips. Then she carefully pulls back the silk, revealing her bare breasts to him for the first time, making sure to keep her robe closed any lower than that. 

His words disappear in his mouth as his jaw hangs open. “Is this how you imagined them Jon? Are my _tits_ all you’d hoped they would be?”

“More,” he declares earnestly, “so much more.”

Her soft pink nipples are puffy and much smaller than he’d pictured, though the curved flesh surrounding them is much more full. The undersides of her tits stretch upward away from her ribs, like two perfect orbs suspended in air.

Sansa leans forward, placing her gloved hands on the apex of this thighs, and the movement pushes her breasts together in a swell between her arms. She squeezes his flesh causing him to bite down on his lower lip, the strength of his erection nearly forcing through the heavy leather now. Her thumbs spread down against his parted crevice and then pull back, stretching his ass open to her even further. 

“What else do you imagine, Jon?” He feels her gloved finger graze over his tight pucker and he gasps. 

“Do you imagine yourself inside of me,” the finger presses down, not entering, but shoving his rim back with the threat of it, “forcing your body into mine?” 

“Y.. yes..” His voice is coarse, and heavy with a dangerous need. 

“Tell me,” she commands, her finger resting on his precipice. “Tell me the dark, perverse things you imagine doing to your little sister, Jon.” 

He opens his mouth but his words are choked back by fear. Then she tilts her finger, dragging his rough edge down just enough to pull a glimpse of the pink, virgin skin to the surface. It breaks him and he confesses all.

“I imagine fucking you, possessing you like a bed slave, holding you down while you beg me to fill you with my seed. But I don’t. Instead I come on your face, on your tits, down your throat, everywhere but your cunt so that you keep begging.”

Sansa shifts her thighs, but when Jon looks down at the movement she presses the tip of her finger passed the rim of his dry hole. Jon whimpers in pain and moves his pleading eyes back to hers.

“Everywhere, Jon? What about up my ass? Yes, I’m sure you do imagine fucking your sister’s tight little asshole.” She turns the tip of her gloved finger, scraping the leather around his entrance. 

“Yes, Sansa. I dream of it. _All_ the time.” He sounds so ashamed and she wets her lips. “But first I put my tongue inside it, licking your hole clean, pushing my spit inside you until you’re dripping with it.”

She presses into him further, until his pained hole swallows up to the first knuckle of her glove. He hisses desperately and seizes, clenching his ass so hard that he traps her in place. 

“Is that to make it easier for you to push your big cock into my tiny hole, or do you just enjoy the taste of filth on your tongue?”

“Both, My Queen, both…” He squeezes his eyes closed, on the verge of tears.

Sansa places her free hand softly on his chest and he looks at her again. She is closer, leaning over him and staring into his eyes with comfort. Then she slides her hand up from his chest to his neck, stroking him gently. 

“Relax,” she whispers. “Let go.”

Jon takes a breath and she feels his body loosen around her finger. Then she eases it back out, leaving him empty and burning against the night air. Sansa brings the invading finger up to his mouth and teases his lips with it. He can smell the sour sweat before she lays it on his tongue to give him a taste. 

She fucks his mouth with her finger like it’s a cock, thrusting through his lips and down his throat, causing him to gag once, and then twice. The smooth leather dampens with his spit and she keeps working his mouth until he is drooling pools down into his beard. When she is satisfied, she drags her finger out, stretching his bottom lip back against his chin before releasing it with a snap. 

Then her hand moves back between his legs again. With her other hand still holding his neck, and her eyes piercing into his, she enters him, slowly but fully, until her finger reaches as far as it can go inside his asshole. He groans pathetically and his mouth hangs open, still spilling drool down his face like a slathering idiot.

“Like that, Jon? Is that the way you’d fuck me?”

He doesn’t answer, only tries to swallow, but he can’t close his mouth. 

“Would you push it in nice and slow like that, or would you take me rough?” Sansa forces herself in further with a shove and he chokes.

Coughing and spurting, Jon finally is able to clear his throat, swallowing the rest of the spit he’d gathered for her and presses his lips together in pain.

“Tell the truth now,” she warns. Then she pulls back a little, her finger relieving only an inch of pressure before she shoves in again. “Tell me how hard you would fuck my ass.”

“As hard as I could.”

Sansa pulls out further this time, then thrusts back in, moving in slow and continuous prods, fucking him on her finger. 

“How does that feel, Jon?”

“Incredible,” he replies instantly. “So, so good, Sansa.”

“Do you think that’s how it would have felt for me, if you fucked my ass as hard as you could?”

He shakes his head no, squeezing his eyes closed again, but only for a moment before he refocuses on her. 

“My finger’s much smaller than your cock and it can hardly fit. The handle of my scourge is closer to your size. Should I give it a try, Jon?”

He looks at her, terrified but not refusing, and she only smirks. Then she lifts her body above him so that her breasts hang above his face. 

The defined muscles of his arms and chest flex to their limit and she knows he is pulling against his restraints, desperate to touch her. Her nipples are just out of reach as he cranes his neck, grabbing for her with his mouth. 

“Now, now,” she reminds him calmly, and he lays his head back on the pillow in obedience. “Not until I give you permission.”

With her finger still gliding in and out of his throbbing hole, she slowly lowers her chest a few inches until one of her nipples hovers just above his lips, and he knows he could touch her if he tried.

Jon opens his mouth, staring at her hard, pink pebble that taunts him cruelly. He lets his tongue slip out, pulsing and twitching along his lower lip as his anguished brow begs her. She makes him wait a few more torturous seconds until she hears a weak cry escape from the back of his throat, but he doesn’t reach for her. 

As a reward, she lowers herself completely, filling his gaping mouth with her tit, smothering him by stuffing as much of her flesh into him as she can fit. He whines but keeps his jaw and tongue in place, stoically trembling as she thrashes against him with a crushing force. 

Finally, she whispers, “Suck on me,” and he does. He gulps and pulls, trying to swallow her breast down his throat. His tongue lashes against her aching nipple and his teeth scrape along her flesh. Sansa presses harder against him, his beard rubbing a rash into her skin, and she can feel a pull on her glands from deep within her chest. 

She pulls him back roughly by the hair until all that remains in his mouth is her tip and he sucks it like a babe. They continue like this, Sansa switching nipples back and forth as she continues to fuck him up the ass and feed him her tits. Then she curves her finger inside of him and finds a spongy piece of flesh that makes him buck when she presses it. His response intrigues her and she focuses on the spot, rubbing it in a small circular caress. 

Jon groans as he sucks her nipples harder, clenching his ass around her finger in an increasingly desperate pace. She works him more fiercely, watching his face contort with fascination. Then suddenly he drops her tit from his mouth and looks at her with terrified urgency. 

“Sansa,” he warns. “I think I’m going to come, if you don’t stop I think I’m going to…”

“Control your cock, Jon.”

“I am!” he yells frantically. “Not there, I… I can’t help it, I’m sorry… oh gods! Oh fuuuuck!!!” 

His breath catches in his throat, seizing to a halt, and his asshole clamps down in a vice-like grip that locks her finger in place. She can feel him pulsing around her in waves as though he were swallowing her from the inside. She stares at him as he rides out his peak, mesmerized by the shade of purple his face is turning as the veins in his neck and temples bulge. His eyes are rolled back wild and his jaw stretches wide in a silent scream. 

When he finally gasps in a breath again, his trembling clench starts to relax and she slides her finger out slowly, his muscles still convulsing at random intervals. Heaving, Jon watches her move her attention back down his body. His head is spinning and he doesn’t even know where he is anymore. 

Then he feels her lift the heavy weight of the scourge from his lap, holding it in her hand once again. 

“Impressive,” she murmurs. Jon winces and looks down as she glides a hand over his still unspent cock. “You managed to hold your seed, which is what I commanded after all.” 

“But I…” he wheezes with confusion, barely sure of what words even are anymore. “I thought I… it felt like…”

“You came for me with your cunt, sweet brother.” Her hand continues to offer comforting touches to his cock, though not quite stroking it. “You did so well. Perhaps you’ve earned your reward again tonight.”

Her fingers close around him firmly, but just to hold his cock in place, still not giving him the relief he needs. 

“Only, you remember the rules, don’t you?”

“Your pleasure comes first.” He recites her instructions like they are etched on his tongue, waiting to be called forth. “Please Sansa,” he begs, only his voice is low and hard now. “Please let me make you come.” 

She smiles approvingly and then her touch disappears from him completely. Jon watches as she lifts herself up, standing on the bed once again, facing him with her boots planted beneath his armpits. His chest fills with the air of her, her scent wafting over him as the waves of silk on her robe part fully. She brings her hands to the split and pulls the garment slowly down her shoulders, letting it fall in a soothing blanket across his lap.

She lets him look at her for a while, standing naked above him aside from her leather boots and gloves. The sight of her is like a dream, only not, for he’d never have been capable of dreaming up a vision as glorious as this. 

“Sansa.” It is a mere utterance of astonishment, a prayer of thanks. 

Her knees bend and she holds herself steady with a hand on the headboard behind him as she lowers them down to rest beside his neck. Her leathered shins press against his shoulders and Sansa holds herself suspended above him, feeling his warm breath hitting the damps curls of her cunt. 

“Hold out your tongue,” she instructs, looking down at him from above. He obeys, pushing his tongue out in a stiff reach toward her. She reaches down with the hand not clutching the headboard and spreads open her folds with two gloved fingers. Then, carefully and with precision, she lowers down, pressing only her clit against the tip of his tongue. 

They both release a groan together and his vibrates through her. Then she rocks her hips a little, moving herself back and forth along his unmoving tongue. 

“Mmm…” she purrs in a tone of motherly approval he’s always craved. “You’re doing such a good job, Jon. You’ve made me very proud tonight. Hmm, yes… such a good boy.”

Sansa feels his tongue tremble even though he is doing his best to not move until she commands it. She releases her touch on her cunt and holds onto the frame of the bed with both hands. 

“I give you my permission to do as you like.” She presses down against him and he pulls in a deep breath of her. “Eat my cunt like you’ve dreamed about, Jon. Drink until you no longer thirst.”

His words on her lips nearly have him coming against the silk she’d discarded across him, but he won’t allow anything to rob him of this opportunity, not even his own desperate cock, so he maintains control of himself. 

Jon melts into her, slowly at first, savoring her taste and smell as he spreads as much of her as he can on his lips and face and tongue. Then he captures one of her lips between his and pulls it hard, lowering his head against the pillow until she snaps back from his release. He watches her skin retract and regain its form from the loose state he’d stretched it into. Then he lifts his head again and captures the other side, repeating the motion. 

When he releases her again, her lips are split apart slightly more than they’d been, curtaining a line down her cunt that has the slick ridges between her slit peeking out to him. He runs his tongue up through her folds in a hard, long line, gathering as much of her sweet juice as he can with the single stroke. Then he looks again, seeing he’s exposed even more of her. She’s opening to him more with every touch and when he licks her again, her juice is flowing enough to roll down his tongue and into his throat. 

He continues his long laps, dipping into her pool and stroking up the length of her, over and over, as he drinks his fill. She moans and begins to rotate her hips, then Jon clamps down on her clit, sucking it with gentle urgency. She fucks his mouth, rocking against him as he maintains his hold, pressing his chin against her open heat. Her cries start to signal her peak, but before she hits it fully she lifts up, pulling her knees back as she moves off of his face. 

Jon’s mouth keeps moving for a moment against the air and then he looks up pleadingly at her, devastated by the loss. She smirks at his pain and then reassures him with a mocking tone in her voice. 

“Don’t worry, sweet boy. I only want to adjust myself so that I can reach your pretty cock.” 

Sansa straddles his face again, only in reverse, and stretches her body down the length of his as she spreads her knees wide, opening herself fully for his use. His mouth is back on her before she even touches his cock, reaching down to roll his tongue against her clit as his buries his nose inside of her. 

He is so immersed in her hot flesh that when her hand wraps around him he doesn’t notice at first that it is her bare skin touching him and not a glove. Then she starts to stroke him up and down, her soft hand exploring every hardened inch, and he gasps as her smooth thumb presses across his tip. He groans her name into her cunt and plunges deeper. 

Jon gorges himself on the flow spilling from her in streams now, slurping and sucking every drop until it reaches his throat. He wants to make this last, to bring her to the edge over and over, only to deny her completion until he can no longer move his jaw. But the way she is working his cock, he knows he won’t be able to maintain himself much longer and he isn’t allowed to come until she does.

He flattens his tongue against her clit, applying more pressure, and the cry it elicits from her makes him smile against her unintentionally. But then he gasps a wet mist of her slick into his lungs as her mouth closes around the head of his cock. 

Jon elevates himself, pulling on all four restraints simultaneously, causing them both to lift with the bucking wave of his body. More of him slides into her mouth and he isn’t sure if she’d intended it or he had pushed in with his reflex, but he doesn’t care. He’s so close. 

Shifting his mouth, he plunges hard into her depths as his rough chin shoves against her clit. His nose is at her asshole now and he nuzzles into it as he fucks her harder with his distended tongue. Her lips squeeze his cock and she bobs her head up and down, taking him deeper into her throat with each stroke, and he can feel her slobber dripping down his balls. 

He grunts in a staggered, building rhythm against her and then her thighs close around his neck. She bares down on him, suffocating his face with her pulsing cunt. She starts to come, unmistakably, and then he does too. Only, he can’t give her a warning past a desperate moan because she has him trapped. 

Liquid spurts against his tongue, flooding his mouth, and he can feel the beat of her pulse with his lips. His balls clench beneath her and his cock jolts, spraying the back of her throat as she brings her mouth down further until her lips are pressed to his groin, all the while swallowing around his tip as he feeds her load after load of his seed. She lifts herself off his cock just as the last rope of hot cum shoots from his tip, landing on his stomach as she leans back, seating herself fully on his face to ride the last of her wave. 

He drinks her down ruthlessly, mouthing for every drop of her cum as she bucks her hips back and forth, jerking him around with her pace as he begins to grow faint from the deprivation of breath. He doesn’t care, though. He’d gladly die right here, murdered by Sansa’s cunt. 

Finally, she lifts herself from him and off the bed entirely, the loss of her burning his skin as much as the hateful air now invading his lungs. He feels dizzy, woozy, as if he were drunk. The room around him is spinning and he tries to lift his head to find her but he can’t. He is wet, from his face to his balls, covered in sweat and spit and cum, soiled exquisitely from her use of him tonight. 

Jon nearly falls unconscious as his splayed body rests in his restraints. Then he flinches and looks down when he feels a touch. She is standing beside the bed, her robe covering her once again, though her hands are still bare and holding a damp cloth. Slowly, she cleanses him, running the towel over his chest, then neck, then up to his face. A part of him wants to tell her to leave her mess on him to cherish, but the care she is taking makes his heart ache.

Sansa brings the cloth back down, finishing the wash between his legs, then she sets it aside and begins releasing him from his restraints. She frees his ankles first and his legs fall limp against the bed as blood flow returns to his extremities. Then she moves to the head of the bed and pull open the strap around one of his wrists. 

As she starts to move away, heading for the other side, he grabs her by the arm and pulls her back, croaking out her name. He isn’t rough but his hand holds her tight, and he is staring at her with an intensity that makes her gasp. 

“Jon,” she whispers, and it isn’t part of her game. She isn’t angry with him, or pretending to be, and her voice is nearly as desperate as his.

The urge to pull her into his chest is overwhelming, but in one final act of strained submission, he lets go. His hand falls to the furs and she moves back. She watches him a moment longer and then quietly makes her way around the bed and releases him from the last of his captivity. 

He sits up slowly, cautiously, acknowledging the aches throughout his body from being stretched and scourged and fucked. His is still spinning but he manages to stand. Then, without waiting for a command, he retrieves his clothing from the floor and dresses in silence as she watches by the door. Just like last night. 

When he approaches her to leave, she places a hand on the latch of her door but doesn’t turn it. He finds her eyes, questioning, and then before she dismisses him for the night she reaches out. Her hand cups behind his neck and she pulls him close, pressing her heart to his in a gentle but tight embrace.

Jon can’t hold back any longer and wraps his arms around her back, crushing her against him as he pushes his face against her neck and says, “I love you, Sansa.” 

“I love you too, Jon. Now go to bed.” 

He leaves and that night he dreams of her again. Only now his dreams aren’t filled with images of him defiling her. Instead he is standing beside her, swearing a vow before the heart tree to love her until the day he dies.


	5. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon breaks the rules and Sansa punishes him.

“The Queen is not to be disturbed,” the hideous Northman guard tells him again from outside her chamber door. 

Jon had been informed that morning as he inquired about her at breakfast that Queen Sansa had felt unwell and would not be attending to her duties today. Initially, he worried it was something serious, as even the simplest illness during Winter could be fatal after all, but as the morning carried on he couldn’t help but wonder if her absence had something to do with what he’d said. 

_I love you, Sansa._

_I love you too, Jon. Now go to bed._

He hadn’t allowed himself to truly consider why she was playing these games with him. For the most part, he’s been pretty resigned to not think about reasoning at all anymore, about anything. The distraction from having to think about all they’d been through was necessary at first, and he was grateful for it as he knew it had likely pulled him back from the brink of madness. But perhaps now it is simply an excuse. 

Jon trudges his way back to the great hall for the council meeting. Even though the Queen would not be attending, he hasn’t heard that it was called off. So, as he does every day at this hour, he enters the hall with the other lords and ladies of the North. 

Lord Glover is the first to question the Queen’s absence, and to Jon’s surprise the question is directed at him. He looks around and sees that everyone else is watching him with a similar expectation that he should speak on her behalf.

“The Queen isn’t feeling well,” he reports hesitantly. “She won’t be attending the meeting today.”

It had been a long time since he’d lead the address of these men and women, and the way they all watch for him to continue makes him feel like even more of an intruder than he ever has inside these halls. Still, they are waiting.

“Lord Cerwyn,” he begins, shifting his eyes to the man with the hopes of deflecting attention to someone else. “I believe you were wanting to continue on the matter of defense today.” 

The lord stands and moves to the center of the hall, briefly looking around to the others as if to gain consensus that they would be moving forward with business without the Queen present. When nobody objects, he proceeds.

“Yes, my um… lord. I was saying yesterday how our fighting men have been… reduced quite significantly, and with the Knights of the Vale no longer in the North, well… I wondered what assurances we might have that resources will be provided to rebuild the armies.”

“The North is currently under no known threat,” Jon points out, having not intended to be the one to answer this concern. Yet, he continues to do just that. “The Queen’s brother rules the South, and the relationships she maintains with both the Vale and the Riverlands remain in good standing. We have many established allies far and wide.”

“Still, their allegiances are to their own lands first. This is the North, and the North must protect its own, no matter who rules in the South.”

Jon senses there is something more this man wants to say, but isn’t. Impatiently he asks, “What are you getting at, my lord?”

Lord Glover stands then, hardly a man to delay the point. “He’s asking if your Wildlings will still fight for the North if it comes to that.” 

The audacity of this question, coming from this man, has Jon nearly ripping through his gloves as he clenches his fists. When he responds, his voice is low and cruel and everyone else falls into complete silence.

“I don’t speak for the Freefolk, my lord, but I will say this –” 

Jon stands, his face growing crimson with anger. He knows he should quell it back, but suddenly all he can see is the image of Lord Glover staring down at Sansa, cursing in her face as she asks for his allegiance in Deepwood Motte. 

“While you chose to sit out the North’s defense, breaking your sworn oath when called upon, not once but twice, the Freefolk fought and died for us all.” 

Glover looks as if he wants to retort, but he stays quiet. Jon then looks to Lord Cerwyn and the rest of the nobles still staring at him with bated breath. The disgust he has for all of them is too great, and he decides he must end this discussion before he takes things too far. 

“Any need for military resources will be provided for, as they have been thus far without fail by the Queen. Her highest priority has always been and continues to be the safety of the North and the security of its independence. Both, I would remind you, came at the cost of great suffering endured by my sister.”

“But she isn’t your sister.” 

This time it is Lady Hornwood who speaks up and Jon glares at her, feeling as though he’s been suddenly hit in the face with an icy pail of water. 

“Isn’t that right?” the lady presses. “You aren’t the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, are you? Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen.” 

Voices erupt around him in not-so-quiet murmurings. He hadn’t considered how much everyone knew, but he’d be fooling himself to think that word wouldn’t get out eventually. Still, he wasn’t prepared to face this subject here and now. Jon swallows hard and then sits back down.

“Yes,” he growls quietly, his hatred for them growing with every ragged breath he takes. “I am not a Stark, but a Targaryen by birth. A Targaryen you all chose to follow over your rightful Queen. You were wrong, we all were.” 

“Well,” Lady Hornwood continues, “be that as it may, our past mistakes are not why I bring it up.” 

The older woman moves to the center of the room, apparently less concerned with stoking Jon’s ire than the others. He watches her as she looks him up and down and when she speaks again she is scolding, but also kind. 

“We are all more than aware of what Queen Sansa has endured for the sake of her people.” 

She pauses a moment to give her words their needed weight. Jon nods somewhat apologetically, though his posture remains defensive. 

Lady Hornwood then adds, “And whether or not you wish to hear it, we are aware of your sacrifices, too.” 

Jon shifts uncomfortably, and he sees Glover scowl, but the others seem to gesture in cautious agreement as she continues. 

“Perhaps it would have been wise to choose her to lead us from the start, but I see no point in play games of ‘what if’ where the past is concerned. We’re all here now, and what I know for certain is that we _all_ owe our lives to you both.”

“You’re very kind,” Jon states through gritted teeth. He’s still irritated by the positioning of himself at equal measure to Sansa, but she would want him to give this noble lady his respect. “I don’t see how this is relevant to our discussion, though.”

“It’s relevant because the Northern crown requires some form of succession. Should something happen to her Majesty, gods forbid, she remains unmarried and without an heir.”

“Your point?” His tolerance, even for Lady Hornwood, is growing quite thin. 

“My point, is that although you are not the Queen’s brother, are we to assume you would still be her successor if she were to remain unwed?” 

Jon is completely thrown by this. “What? No. I… I mean, whomever the Queen chooses to rule after her is for her to speak on, and her alone. But I can assure you, it will not be me.” 

“Well,” the lady continues, “as you say it is for her to decide. But what makes you so certain she wouldn’t name you? Are you saying you would refuse the crown if she did?”

All eyes are focused on him again, waiting and wondering, but Jon is speechless. When he woke up this morning, the last thing he ever expected was for anyone to still want him as their king, much less confront him with the notion behind Sansa’s back. He presses his lips into a tight line, knowing that if he speaks now he’ll likely regret whatever he says.

Lady Hornwood sighs, seeming to relent on the issue. But then as she turns to take her seat, Jon hears her mutter something to another woman present, as if continuing a previous conversation. “It seems we will need to discuss more potential betrothals.” 

At this Jon is back on his feet, the slam of his fist on the table causing all aroused whispers to cease once again. 

“Hear me now, and listen well, for I’ll not offer a second warning.” 

Jon moves around the table and stands in the aisle between all of the questioning lords and ladies, so as to be sure they will not mistake his fury. 

“Whatever my authority or lack thereof, whatever my standing amongst the North or within House Stark… If I learn of _anyone_ speaking or so much as thinking of another marriage arrangement for Sansa, you will be met with my justice.” 

He looks arounds, glaring at each of them one-by-one, daring anyone to defy his threat. When nobody does, he marches out of the hall without another word. 

Later, while choosing to spend the rest of the day hiding himself in his room, Jon is left with only his own thoughts as he paces back and forth beside his bed. He’d spent most of the day fuming over the idea that the nobles were plotting Sansa’s marriage, though he wouldn’t allow himself to acknowledge the true cause of his distress over this. 

If anything, he knows she’d be able to resist a coerced arrangement, should anyone be so bold. But even the thought of her choosing a husband for herself has Jon wanting to put his fist through something, or someone. 

Now, he is simply not able to consider it at all. Instead he lets his mind wander back to the concern he’d started his day with, before the unpleasant meeting in the great hall. He’s still had no word of Sansa since his attempt to see her that morning and he again starts to suspect his own fault in her condition, whatever that may be. 

Perhaps her nightly training of him has conjured up some past horrors for her. Maybe, he thinks, she’s experiencing some sort of disconnect during their time together. Maybe she doesn’t even realize what it is she’s putting herself through, or the ways she unwittingly permits him to defile her so perversely. 

Or maybe she does know, but she’s enduring it all the same because she thinks there is no other way to reach him. Oh, how could he have been so stupid, so selfish? To think that, after all she’s been through, that this would just – 

A knock on his chamber halts his pacing as well as his train of thought. When he opens the door, one of Sansa’s personal guard is waiting on the other side. Jon realizes it is the same guard who’d struck him and dragged him to the Queen the day Sansa first presented him with their arrangement.

“What?” he snipes, not wanting to be bothered by anything more tonight.

“Her Grace has a message for you,” the man tells him, his face filled with disdain at Jon’s tone. 

He can see the guard would like nothing more than to bloody his lip again, but nevertheless Jon keeps his air of disrespect.

“Well?” he demands insolently. “What’s the message?” 

The guard sucks his teeth behind closed lips, and Jon can see his nostrils flare in anger. But then he simply says, “You’re late,” and then leaves, disappearing around a turn in the corridor. 

***

Jon knocks on her abandoned door. Nobody is standing guard now to tell him she will not be disturbed and yet, for once, he isn’t sure if he wants to be here. 

Sansa’s voice comes from within, barely reaching his ear. “Come in.” 

He turns the handle, hesitating a moment as he decides on a course of action, then pushes his way into her room. She stands by the window, fully dressed, in her long gown of black scales with her leather armor and chain locking her up tight. Her eyes stare out into the night, her shoulders back, hands clasped formally behind her back, and only the profile of her face in the moonlight is visible to him. From this distance, it is hard to know what she is thinking.

“Sansa,” he begins stubbornly, “we need to talk.” 

Her face turns toward him, only enough for him to see her lift an eyebrow before she fixes her gaze back out the window again. Jon decides to take that as permission.

“Today, at the council meeting, some of the nobles were discussing your succession. They intend to arrange another marriage for you.” Jon’s voice is almost scolding as he informs her of the crimes of her people as he sees them. 

Sansa simply sniffs, and then Jon is moving closer, crossing her room with a haste that draws her around to face him full on. He halts as her eyes catch his, but he continues his frantic warning just the same.

“Sansa, you can’t trust these people. They even asked me whether I would be taking your throne if _something_ were to happen to you. Honestly, you’ve been Queen for less than a month and they are already plotting!” He reaches out, closing his hand around her arm without thinking. “And after everything you’ve been through? It should be treason for them to even suggest–”

“That’s enough, Jon.” 

He stares at her in disbelief, waiting for her to respond to what he’s told her, but she remains as quiet and stoic as ever despite his rage. Her frustrating calm penetrates through all of the authority and command he’d come here preparing to assert. Then her eyes shift down, landing sharply on his hand. Realizing his mistake, he drops his touch from her and moves back.

Jon opens his mouth to try again, twice, but the lecture he’d rehearsed in his head all afternoon is now gone. 

Finally, after she is satisfied with his silence, she takes a small step toward him. Jon nearly loses his balance as she leans in close to him, her hands still fixed behind her with nothing of her touching him but a breath against his ear. 

“Kneel,” she orders quietly. “Right now.” 

He sighs and looks down, unsure if he should be doing this anymore, not after the frenzy he’d let his mind work into all day, not until he tells her about his concerns. It wouldn’t be right to keep participating in something that might be harming her. 

And yet, when her command hits his ear, his body obeys. Jon moves to his usual spot near the foot of her bed and lowers himself to his knees. Then he waits, watching her move slowly as she goes to retrieve something from her shelf. He wonders if it is her whip, but before he can find out she orders him to keep his eyes on the floor. 

Soon her shadow passes by, the tips of her boots the only part of her that come into view as she walks behind him. Then he waits, feeling her presence looming at his back. Suddenly, something rough is brought down before his face and his lips are forced to open. A ball of materiel is shoved into his mouth and Jon worries it will choke him at first, but it only reaches the center of his tongue. 

As Sansa ties the gag methodically at the back of his neck, Jon sputters a little until he adjusts his breathing around the invasion inside his mouth. When she’s finished, she remains behind him and waits until he’s settled himself again.

He watches with questioning eyes as she crosses in front of him, carrying the stool from her vanity, and then sits upon it with her back straight and her hands folding neatly in her lap. Her steel eyes peer down at him and he feels a stirring in his gut as her domination takes hold of him again.

“You need to understand something, Jon.” Her voice is not cruel, but severe just the same. “When you are in my chamber you will maintain restraint over your tongue and obedience with your body. If you have issue with the subjects of the North you will address them at an arranged meeting elsewhere.”

He sighs, but the gesture simply comes forth as a choked breath against his gag. 

“And should you choose to take these more appropriate measures to raise your concerns, your opinion will be heard, but you will not presume to _tell_ your sovereign what to do, whom to trust, or what constitutes treason.” 

He looks down, his ears growing hot. 

“Jon,” she says soothingly, her hand reaching out to caress his face, “you must learn to control these outbursts. I know that you are concerned for me, and I love you for that.” His eyes dart back up to her, but then she drops her hand from him and sits back. “Still, our time together in the evenings is quite important to me. I’d thought it was important to you, too.”

He starts to nod frantically, but a flare of her eyes stills him again.

“If we’re going to continue with your instruction, there needs to be respect between us. I respect you and I want what is best for you, but I won’t force you to accept my methods of what I believe that to entail. You’re free to leave at any point, or to not come at all. However, when you are in my chambers you _will_ follow the instructions I’ve given you or this cannot work. Do you understand?”

She sees him consider himself this time before responding. Then he nods once. 

“Good. Now, I told you that if you did not obey me you would be punished. You failed to arrive on time for your instruction. You failed to kneel when entering my chamber. Then you proceeded to not only lecture me, but also touch me without my permission.” 

Jon watches her steadily. He doesn’t gesture or even plead for her understanding with his eyes. He simply remains still on his knees as she reprimands him. 

Sansa sighs, like a disappointed parent who must teach their child the value of following the rules. She looks him over as she sits back and unfolds her hands, placing them on her knees in preparation. Then she nods, deciding what must be done.

“Take off your clothes, Jon. Stand beside the bed and bend over with your head on the mattress.” She watches as he immediately rises to his feet in obedience, then adds, “And make sure you are in a comfortable position. This may take a while.” 

Jon removes his boots first, placing them neatly out of the way, then he removes the rest of his clothing and folds each piece before laying them on top of the boots. Sansa studies him, noting his attempt to show more respect for her space. Then, once he is in position with his forehead resting against her furs and his arms bent beside him for support, she stands. 

He can’t see her, but hears her walking back to the shelf where she keeps her secrets. As she returns he can hear her twisting leather in her hands and he knows she’s retrieved the scourge. 

He closes his eyes, trying to forget the concerns he’d come to her room with, trying to place himself in the mindset of the last time they did this, but something is different. This doesn’t feel like a game anymore. Maybe it never was, and that’s the problem. Still, he chooses to stay.

Once he feels her behind him, Jon inhales deeply through his nose. His body is tense, each muscle in his back flexed in rigid curves, and his legs are already trembling beneath him. His lips tighten around the gag that is becoming more saturated with his spit at this angle. 

Just when he thinks he should tell her he can’t do this tonight, she touches him. The first thing he notices is that her hand is gloveless, and already this begins to soothe his strain. She rests her hand on the space between his tight shoulders, not moving, only pressing gently into him. 

He finds himself moving all of his awareness to the spot she touches and everything else disappears. A warmth penetrates his skin beneath hers, the tension in his shoulders beginning to melt away, and he can feel himself lower a little further into the bed. 

Then she moves her hand down the length of one of his arms, still pressing with firm guidance, until she wraps her fingers around his elbow and shifts it a few inches further to the side. He can already feel the circulation of his blood flowing more comfortably down his arm and then she closes her hand around his clenched fist, slowly prying each finger open until his hand is flat against the furs. He lets her do the same to his other arm, though he could easily repeat the adjustment for himself, but he wants to savor the feel her touch now that he has it. 

Sansa moves her hand to his back again, running her fingers down the length of his spine with her assessment. Then she presses the back of his head, tilting him so that his chin moves closer to his neck, and the relief that comes instantly to his back is astonishing. Even the gag feels less intrusive now. 

What he feels next is strange, but also incredibly arousing. Sansa lines the fronts of her thighs up with the back of his and presses into him as if she were a man penetrating his lover from behind. The texture of her scaled dress lays heavy against him and he presses his body back like a wanton whore. Immediately, he feels her hand fall to the center of his lower back and she pushes hard, stilling his movement against her. 

Embarrassed, he realizes she had not positioned herself this way to stimulate him, but to instead adjust him again. He submits, relaxing his legs as he allows her to press him forward until his knees angle with a slight bend, relieving him of the tremble in his limbs. Then her touch leaves him completely. 

“You need to learn a great deal about control, Jon. You must control your body, your behavior, your impulses, even your thoughts. If you don’t, they will control you.” Her shaming words prove his punishment has begun. “That is why we are here, for you to learn, and until you learn you must give over control to me. You did well last time controlling your cock, but tonight you will learn to control your tongue.” 

A heavy weight drops onto his lower back and he knows it is the leather tails of her whip. Jon takes a steady breath through his nose, concentrating on her movements and her words. 

“I’m going keep you gagged as I administer your punishment, giving you the opportunity to reflect on my previous instructions so that you might not forget them again. Each time you get the impulse to speak, I want you to use the gag as a reminder to examine how you might remain silent if you weren’t being forced to do so.” 

She moves the whip back and forth across his skin, caressing his back and arms, then gliding it down the curve of his ass. 

“You are not restrained apart from the gag, so if it becomes too much, or at any point you require me to stop, I want you to move your hands to your head as a signal. If you understand, demonstrate it now so that I may see.” 

Without moving his elbows from where she’d expertly placed them, Jon lifts his hands and crosses them over his head as if shielding himself from a firestorm raining down upon him. 

“That’s very good, Jon. Thank you.” 

He places his hands back to their resting position on the furs and takes another deep breath. The anticipation of her beginning is both thrilling and a bit frightening. Jon can’t help but wonder if this signal is necessary, finding it hard to imagine her capable of inflicting that much pain. 

And then it begins.

The heavy leather is lifted from his back, leaving him cold and unfocused, but then he hears her twisting the tails in her hand and he is instantly concentrated on her again. The first strike lands hard across the back of his thighs, causing him to gasp. It leaves a sharp sting, more intense than anything she’s done before. Then another follows immediately over the same stretch of skin. 

She waits, and Jon tries to steady his breathing as his attention shifts back to his racing thoughts. Realizing this is just a test, that she’s barely begun, he forces himself to relax the tension that has once more seized up in his body. When he’s settled back to her liking, the leather whips across the back of his thighs once again and he takes it this time without flinching.

“That’s good,” she soothes, and then her bare hand moves over the skin she’d struck.

Her touch stirs his cock and he feels it brush along the mattress as it fills the space where it hangs between his angled hips and bed. Jon’s focus shifts to his erection but then another strike pulls it back to the pain where it belongs. 

This one lands across the left cheek of his ass and he can feel his hard flesh rippling with the force of the blow. It stings more than the last one, and whether that’s because the skin here is more sensitive or because she had simply hit him harder, he doesn’t know. 

There is no time to consider these ideas anyway, for another strike soon follows it. Then two more, each harder than the last, and each across the same searing band of flesh. 

Something erupts from his throat, a cry maybe, or a swear, but the gag chokes it back and he is reminded of her instruction. Jon tries to slow his racing mind, now plagued with impulses to rage against the hurt even as he wants it to continue. But only when her hand replaces the leather again does he find the silence he needs. 

“We all have pain, Jon.” Her voice shocks him, breaking so intimately through the quiet and wrapping around him like a blanket. “But my pain belongs to me, not you.” 

She strikes him again, this time on the right cheek, but he hardly reacts at all as her words have left a greater sting. He feels his chest tighten defensively, then another strike makes him groan into his gag. 

“You have your own pain to confront,” she says before delivering another blow. “Distracting yourself with mine won’t help you to do that.” She hits him again, harder, and he starts to tremble. “And it won’t help me either.” Then she lands the fiercest lash yet, making him scream around the ball as he lunges his hips forward to get away. 

She lets him rest on his stomach for a moment, waiting and watching, but he does not move his hands from the furs. 

Jon tries to do what she’d instructed. He conjures the council meeting in his mind and tries to picture himself refraining from her defense, but he can’t. After catching his breath, he settles himself back into place, lifting his hips off the bed and raising his throbbing ass to her bare hands again. 

“Feel it,” she tells him softly as her fingers trace the welts forming on his skin. “Don’t try to escape it. Don’t run away.” 

He still can’t make himself imagine a scenario where he doesn’t murder anyone trying to arrange a marriage for her, so instead he brings his focus just to her touch. She presses down on his skin, then curls her fingers until her nails scratch along his injuries. He sucks in wet air around the gag, but despite himself he finds that it helps. In fact, the more pain she inflicts the easier it is to clear his mind of the world outside her chamber. 

“That’s it,” she encourages sweetly. “Concentrate on the pain, nothing else.”

His breath begins to sync with the rhythm of her movements, pulling in as she scrapes down with her nails and pushing out as she glides back up with the soft soothe of her palm. 

“You’re doing so well, Jon. I’m very proud of you. But we still have more work to do.”

Her hand leaves him and Jon shutters at the loss, but he quickly steadies himself again and waits patiently for her discipline to continue. The stretching sound of her twisting the leather again brings a strange relief to his ears and he extends himself back slightly as if reaching for the blows. 

Sansa unleashes the leather upon him again, lashing him left and right, alternating whips in a relentless and brutal assault. Each strike grows harder than the last, piercing his body to the core with searing pain and Jon falls into a sort of trance, bathing in the heat she is providing so generously. 

“This is yours,” she declares over the loud cracks of her flogging. “This pain belongs to you, Jon. It is yours to hold, yours to keep if you choose, or yours to let go once it’s finished.” 

The blows keep coming and Jon begins to convulse against the bed, but he won’t give in. He wouldn’t dream of it, as he’s never felt so utterly at peace before. If he could drown in this ache he would. He’d let her rip his body apart if that’s was she desired, and perhaps it’s what needs to feel whole. His cock seems to agree, for he is now harder than steel beneath her strength.

Time is incomprehensible to him now, but hours, even days seem to pass before she finally ceases her scourge of him. Yet when she does, Jon still yearns for more. 

He is still lost within himself, intoxicated and mindless, as the click of her heals across the floor barely permeates into his consciousness. But then the heavy weight of her replacing the object on its shelf sends a pang of mourning through his chest. 

“Lay down on your stomach,” her voice echoes through his haze. 

It takes a moment for Jon to remember how to operate his body properly, and as he crawls onto the bed he keeps his eyes pressed shut. His cock rests against his stomach and thrusting against the bed would relieve some of the hard ache that it holds, but relief is not what he wants anymore. Not if she might consider it disobedience. 

The pain he feels on his backside holds his focus as he waits patiently for what is next. It’s a gift, this pain, a treasure more precious than any riches, more valuable than his life. The thought of anything else is impossible now, and the freedom of that feels like finding the answer he didn’t know he’d been seeking, yet it provides him with all he’s needed just the same. 

When he feels the mattress dip down next him, Jon finally opens his eyes. At first, he doesn’t even realize she is naked as her crystal gaze coaxes him back from his trance. She stretches her body out beside him, supporting herself on her elbow, and brings a gentle hand to his back. He wants her touch, but he’s grateful that she doesn’t soothe his injured skin now as the sweet pain is already diminishing too fast. 

“I’m going to take off your gag now. Is that alright?”

He knows what she means by her question. Sansa may as well be inside his mind now as he feels she could instruct him without speaking any words at all. She wants to know if he can continue to control his tongue without force, but Jon no longer understands any other way. 

He nods once, and then she brings a thick cloth beneath his mouth before lifting her hand from his shoulders to loosen the knot tied behind his neck. As the gag falls from his lips, a pool of spit pours onto the cloth she’d laid out. It briefly occurs to him to gather it up and shield her from the crude sight, but as quickly as the impulse comes it vanishes again. She has not instructed him to do it, so he won’t. 

With an approving smile, Sansa sits up a little and bunches the soiled cloth around the ball that occupied his mouth, gently wiping his lips and chin with the soft corners before discarding the rag and its contents. Then she comes to rest beside him again. 

Jon lets his jaw hang slack as his cheek eases down into her pillow, never taking his eyes from hers. When she brings her hand back to him, stroking the side of his face with her thumb, he finally swallows. Pressing his raw lips together, he lets the ache of his jaw court the pain radiating throughout the rest of his body. Then she leans down and places a soft kiss on his forehead, nearly making him weep. 

“What do you want, Jon?” 

Her question needs no further context, and he answers as though he’d been waiting for it to come all night. His voice is harsh, pained like the rest of him, but with her permission to use it once again he reveals the reward he desires like it is his dying request.

“I want to be inside you.” 

Sansa takes his hand, squeezing it with her permission, and then pulls him to her as she lays back on the bed. He is entranced once again, his body moving above hers as if she were levitating his motions for him. Her legs fall open around his as he lowers his hips between them as his arms cradle beneath her shoulders. 

His eyes fall from hers for the first time since he’s opened them, coming to rest on her lips. Then she answers his unspoken question by lifting her hand to his face and pulling him down into a deep and consuming kiss. 

Jon winces slightly at the touch against his pained lips, and soon her tongue is brushing them, easing their swell like a salve until they part and he lets her in. The dance of their mouths moves slowly and the push of her tongue against his has him enraptured, forgetting his initial aim until he feels her reach between them and her fingers close around his cock. 

He doesn’t break their kiss, but his lips pause against hers as he feels her bring his head to her waiting entrance. Then he releases a desperate moan into her throat as she pulls him in. 

Jon hovers motionless above her as his cock pulses inside of her heat. The details of every sensation, every connecting touch, overwhelms the entirety of his being. Then she brings her hand back to his face and lifts him away from her lips, capturing his eyes until he is finally able to move. 

“Sansa,” he whispers softly, as if her name is the only language he knows. Then his pulls back his hips, hissing at the tight grasp of her cunt as he slides almost completely out before plunging once again into her depths. 

Her body tenses and her back lifts slightly off the bed. Jon studies her as he moves, back out and back in, memorizing every twitch and flush of her face. Soon his thrusts grow stronger, and her hips start to rise and meet his rhythm. He feels her wetness flow around his cock more heavily, allowing his movements to quicken with pace of his need. 

Jon kisses her again, pressing his body against hers as her legs shift higher on his hips. Then she moves her hands down his back until she reaches the searing flesh of his ass. Pain shoots through him as she digs her nails into the welts swollen on his skin and the jolt causes him to rut forward violently inside of her. 

Sansa cries out, but he swallows the sound down his throat as he pushes harder, his lips refusing to relent against hers, his cock forcing its way deeper into her core. All sense is lost now, for both of them, as they slam their bodies against one another, grunting and grinding as they both tumble desperately toward their ends. 

Suddenly he feels her walls squeeze him from within, gripping him in a hold so strong he can only push forward, never back, until her peak unleashes his own and his cock erupts inside of her with a force more brutal than any he’s ever known. His entire body spasms as his seed pours into her, spurting and pulsing as she drowns him in her abyss until there is nothing left. 

When it is over, he collapses beside her on his back, unable to care that his injured skin is now pressed against the roughness of the furs, and miles away from realizing the potential consequences of spilling inside her. All he can manage to do, in fact, is pant in exhaustion as he waits for his heart to stop pounding like it’s trying to break free from his chest. 

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Jon starts to feel his body regain some control and he thinks he might be able to move again. He starts by tilting his head to the side to look at her, but to his surprise, Sansa is fast asleep.

He stares at her a while, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, and all he wants is to stay with her through the night. But she hasn’t given him permission for that yet, so he gently leans down and kisses her cheek, then covers her with the furs from beneath him before dressing in silence, and then he leaves.


	6. King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa lets Jon take control and he shows her what he really wants.

Jon requests a meeting with the Queen to discuss his concerns with the Northern Lords, just as she’d instructed, but when he receives word that she’d like to see him in her solar he suddenly feels strange, even nervous. They haven’t really been alone outside of their nightly encounters and he finds himself wondering how this will go. 

He arrives to find her sitting at the desk Lord Stark once used when he’d served as Warden of the North, the desk Jon used when he was King. She stands and greets him with a kind smile, gesturing for him to take a seat across from her. 

He sits, and she controls her expression as he groans a bit, still feeling the pain from the night before. 

“I believe you had some concerns, Jon?” Her posture is relaxed, but ever regal and he shifts uncomfortably as he determines how to begin.

“Yes. There was some, uh, discussion yesterday at the council meeting about your succession. I didn’t think it was appropriate, given your absence.” The words are carefully chosen.

“My absence?” Sansa narrows her eyes at first, but then smiles again. “Jon, just say what you mean, please. It’s alright. I told you there was a time and place for it, and this is it.”

Jon studies her a moment, ever failing to get a full read, but she does seem different somehow. Her hands unfold from her lap and move to rest on the arms of her chair.

“It… I didn’t like that they asked me if I would be succeeding you.”

“Why not? You’re my only family in the North. It isn’t unusual for them to be curious.”

“Because it’s not for me to decide! Or them.” His voice becomes pressured but not loud. “Sansa, you say that you trust them but–”

“That’s not what I said.”

He stops short, waiting for her to explain.

“Jon, I’m happy to discuss with you who is or isn’t trustworthy, in my opinion as wells as yours. What I _said_ was that you would not be making my decisions for me, on that or any other matter.”

He flinches, offended at first, though he’s not sure why. Then Jon realizes what she’s trying to say and concedes with a nod. Sansa sighs and reaches forward to squeeze his hand, the gesture pulling his breath from him unexpectedly. 

“I told you I need you by my side, and _on_ my side. Nothing is going to change that. I want your counsel Jon, always.” 

Jon is still looking at her hand resting on his, then he turns his palm up to catch hers and whispers, “Always, my Queen.” 

He lifts his eyes to her again and the desire he feels must be obvious because her eyes widen and she pulls her hand back. She seems flustered, but not displeased, and so Jon just watches as she gathers herself, clearing her throat softly.

“The Northern Lords spoke freely of these matters with you because I gave them permission to do so.” This catches his attention. “I told them I trust you and that if you ever speak on my behalf they should honor your will as if it were my own.”

“You…” He’s too confused to be angry.

“Besides,” she continues without acknowledging his doubt, “Maester Wolkan gives me a detailed account of any meetings I’m unable to attend. They all know that, they wouldn’t have said anything they didn’t want to reach my ear.” 

“Of course,” he nods, still trying to make sense of her trust, “Sansa, I –” Jon suddenly remembers the feel of the gag in his mouth, his cock stirring visibly.

She waits patiently for him to continue, only softly offering, “The truth, Jon.” 

“I don’t want you to marry. I’m not telling you what to do, I’m telling you… I don’t _want_ you to marry someone else.” 

His eyes stay glued to hers even though he’s desperate to shield them away. She blinks one, twice, lifts her brow and asks, “Someone else?” 

Jon swallows, scraping the cavernous walls of his throat together. His breath leaves him again and his body moves against his will. His chest stretches toward her as he leans forward in his chair, his legs tense as he readies to rise. 

He knows he shouldn’t do it, not here, not without her command, but every part of him needs to press his lips to hers in that moment, and to not do it would split him apart forever.

Sansa doesn’t move but Jon does. He leaves his chair and reaches hers, his hand lifting to her hair, his face curving down to hers. But then, before he touches her, he falls to his knees at her feet instead and bows his head. 

Before he can whisper his apology though, Sansa moves her hand to his neck and tugs at the back of his hair forcing him to look at her. He searches for instruction in her suddenly wild eyes but then she crashes her mouth onto his as she lowers herself into his lap. 

Jon catches her thighs as they straddle his bent legs, her hand pushing past his erection as she reaches between them to shift her skirt. Sansa keeps his mouth to hers with the grip of her fingers in his hair and the pull of her lips on his tongue, sucking it like a cock, and he thrusts against her.

He feels her release him from his breeches, and then she releases his tongue also as she sinks down onto him. Jon groans into her mouth, gasping as she grinds her hips back and forth on his aching cock. He isn’t prepared, he hadn’t dreamed that this would happen here, and without warning he starts to come, spurting inside of her as he presses his forehead to hers. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, his hips still jerking beneath her. “I didn’t mean to…” But he doesn’t care, not really. It feels so good that he’ll happily take whatever punishment she gives him.

Sansa brings her hand to his neck, stroking him softly. “It’s alright, Jon. We’re not in my chamber now. The rules are just for our time together _there_.”

Jon lifts his face, looking at her with confusion, then disappointment. Understanding unfolds on Sansa’s lip as it curves a bit. He wants to be punished.

She rises on her knees, letting his cock slide out of her, then she stays a moment as his eager spill drips out onto his lap. Then she stands, leaning back against the desk with her hands curling around the edge of it by her sides. 

Jon starts to rise too, but before he can her boot catches his shoulder and lowers him back to his knees. He waits, watching as she pulls her skirt up around her waist. The evidence of his sins is still pooling in her cunt as she spreads her legs open for him.

“You made a mess, Jon. Clean it up.”

At her command Jon dives face first, slurping and sucking, smearing his beard with his own filth. He buries himself between her thighs, bathing in her cunt, surging at the thought of being her slave. 

With his ass hanging out, breeches around his knees, and his tongue worshiping at her altar, Jon finds himself wishing someone would walk in. The humiliation of being her toy, not stopping until she commands it, even if Glover himself were to interrupt, it all makes his cock stiffen again in an instant. 

“Such a sweet boy,” she coos as she strokes his head. “That’s it, clean it all. It’s alright, I forgive you for spilling like a greenboy. I know you weren’t expecting to fuck me here, in my father’s office.” 

Jon roars into her cunt and she pulses against him, thrusting as she fucks his face. His tongue batters her clit and she cries out. “Put your fingers in me Jon, I need to come.”

Obeying again, he thrust three fingers deep inside, sucking and biting her clit as he fucks her with his hand. Her slick pools onto his palm and he releases his lips from her long enough to drink it into his throat before latching down again.

She sucks the air between her teeth. “Mmm yes, just like that, don’t stop.” 

Sansa rips into his hair with her fist, shoving him against her in a suffocating hold and Jon grunts with desire at the pain. “I’m coming,” she screams, “Jon, ah! I’m coming!”

He feels her clench down on his fingers and the pool in his hand overflows as she squirts hot liquid all over him. The heal of her boot jabs into his back as she pulls him closer, her body releasing hard against his face. Then she pulls his hair again, lifting him up to his feet.

“Fuck me Jon, now, taking me however you want.” 

Her hands tear off his shirt and he brings his to her bodice, ripping the front of her gown as her breasts spill free. His mouth devours them, sucking hard on each nipple until they puff and swell. 

Sansa reaches between them and pumps his cock in her hand, begging him to put it in her. Jon stands back, running his hands up and down her thighs as she strokes him, but then he takes her by the hips and pushes her over onto her stomach. 

Her legs fall beneath her and she steadies herself with her boots on the floor, bending over her father’s desk as she waits to get fucked by her King. Jon presses the tip to her folds, but doesn’t enter. Sansa whines and he slips his cock back and forth along her slit, teasing her clit, wetting himself with her slick.

“Please,” she whispers and Jon pushes all the way in. 

Sansa cries and Jon leans overs her as he pushes deeper, fucking her in long, sharp thrusts. His lips press to her shoulder, pulling her skin between his teeth. Then he trails his tongue up to her neck and holds her there, wrapping his hand around her throat as he grunts desperately in her ear. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Sansa.” His pace starts to get more violent. “All day and all night my cock is hard for you and it’s killing me. I want you, all of you. I want to worship you on my knees and beg you for my release. I want to feel the sting of your lash as I lay down every night. I want to be inside of you, _part_ of you, I want to put a child in you and…”

Sansa starts to come again, straining against his choke. He releases her and moves his hand underneath her to press her clit. She screams and he roars as he empties himself into her cunt, falling on top of her as he lets go. 

Jon heaves above her and Sansa turns her face to the side, pressing her cheek to the cool wood of the desk. 

“And… what?”

A chill runs through Jon’s blood and out through his spent cock as it falls from her. Drained of his lustful inhibitions, he can’t answer. 

Eventually, Jon pulls his breeches up and sits back in his chair again as Sansa straightens her skirts. She turns, watching at him quietly for a moment as he stares at the floor. Then she pulls on her cloak to hide her torn dress and moves to the door. 

“I’ll see you tonight, Jon,” is all she says and then she’s gone. 

***

He knocks on her door and enters when he hears her, ‘Come in,’ just as he always does. Only tonight, the sight he walks in on takes his breath away. 

Sansa is completely naked, on her knees, with her hands bound behind her and her head bent. Her hair is braided in a tight, silken cord down her back. Spread out on the floor before her in an organized display is her whip, a gag, a satin blind fold, and an array of restraints – both leather and silk. 

Jon continues to stare, standing in her open doorway with his hand still on the latch. 

“Would it please, Your Grace, to have me expose myself to the household?” 

“W... what?” he stammers.

He’s still completely stunned and has no idea what she means. Sansa lifts her face and the look in her eyes is so strange to him. She’s almost apologetic, maybe even afraid? No, that’s not quite it. 

Jon recalls a time when Winterfell was preparing for the arrival of King Robert and one of the kitchen wenches was anxiously trailing after Lady Catelyn, taking instructions. That’s who she looks like now – not Lady Stark, but the servant. 

“Should I close the door for you, Your Grace?” 

Awareness snaps back to Jon and he rushes to finish entering the room, locking the door behind him. Then he stands with his back against it, unsure of what he’s supposed to do, but relatively sure it isn’t kneel. 

“Sansa, why are you calling me that?” 

“My King,” she answers devoutly, “forgive me, but this afternoon I thought you said you hoped to sire our future liege. Would that not then make you the King?”

Jon narrows his eyes, his breath shortening. He looks as if he intends to argue something, but then Sansa captures him with her severe gaze and provides his instruction at last. 

“I _only_ wish to serve at my King’s pleasure tonight.”

He swallows as she bows her head again, and then he understands. This is not a request. He takes another deep breath, remaining by the door until he’s finished gathering his thoughts, then he steps before her and begins. 

“Take out my cock,” he orders firmly.

Sansa lifts her blue eyes to him and the sight of her on her knees below him is incredible. She bites her bottom lip in naïve confusion. 

“Your Grace, my hands–” 

“Use your mouth.” 

Jon thinks he sees the flicker of a proud smirk as she lowers her gaze back to his crotch. He steps closer and wraps his hand around her braid at the back of her head, holding her firmly in place as he presses his clothed erection against her face.

Sansa opens her mouth, writhing her lips and tongue across his laces, sucking them between her teeth and pulling them free. When she drags the last of them loose, she pulls back slowly and stares up at him again with the lace stretching across her bottom lip. 

Then she drops the tie from her mouth and leans back into him, moving the flaps of his trousers aside with her teeth until his breeches fall and his cock springs free. Jon’s tunic hangs over his hips, draping his protruding length in linen. 

He watches from above as Sansa dips her head lower and carefully hooks the hem of his shirt with her tongue. Then slowly, and without dropping a thread, she lifts the edge over his cock and tucks the linen back against his groin. 

Jon’s strokes the slick hair pulled tight beside her braid with his thumb in approval. Then she lifts her eyes to him again to await more instruction. 

He slides his gentle hand from her hair down the side of her face, brushing her jaw with his knuckles, and whispers her own words back to her. “Take care of it.” 

Instantly, her mouth is on him. Wrapping her lips around his tip, Sansa flicks her tongue against his dripping hole, lapping down his precome eagerly. Then she slides her lips down, flattening her tongue and opening her throat to take him all the way until her nose is pressed to his shirt. 

Jon releases a resounding groan, pushing his hips against her as she lingers for a moment with him inside her throat. Then she pulls back, dropping him from her mouth only long enough to swallow her pooling spit and clear her throat, and then she is back on him again.

She bobs her head on his shaft, squeezing and sucking her lips, then she runs her lips along the underside of his length, down to his balls where she pulls them one by one into her mouth. Jon grips her braid again, not guiding her, not daring to interrupt her stellar performance, but simply holding on. 

Sansa continues to work him hard and fast with her perfect, wet mouth. Slurping and lick and sucking him until the exact moment Jon starts to feel himself coil, then she pulls him to back of her throat again just as he starts to spurt his release. She swallows it all, every drop, without pulling back even an inch. 

When he’s shot the last of seed into her stomach, Jon pulls himself out of her mouth and stands back. Sansa coughs a little, then licks her lips as she stares up at him. Her thighs are shifting beneath her and Jon can see from the lust in her gaze that she is in need of relief. 

“Stop moving,” he demands, and she does. 

Jon removes his clothes and then reaches down and takes her by the arm as he lifts her carefully to her feet. He scans his eyes down her body, taking in the full sight of her. His hand reaches out and his fingers graze along the curve of her breast, tightening her nipple with the touch. He brushes his thumb across it in appreciation before taking her by the arm again and leading her to the foot of the bed. 

With Jon’s guidance, Sansa sits down on the edge and then lays back, the knuckles of her bound hands resting against the small of her back as she presses her palms into the furs. Then Jon returns to where she’d sucked him off and picks up two of the leather restraints before returning to the foot of the bed. 

She tilts her chin down to see him, and without instruction she spreads her legs so that each ankle is pointed toward a post. Jon works quickly to secure her in place the same way she had done to him, only just her legs. Her arms he leaves bound behind her back as he moves between her ankles, leaning over the bed at her feet. 

Jon lifts a hand to one of her straight knees, pressing firmly against her as he watches her cunt glisten and flutter at his touch. Then he slides his hand up her thigh, caressing her with his rough fingers, and when he reaches the crux of her leg she moans. His thumb grazes her folds, just enough to catch some of her slick, then he dips his hand beneath her ass and reaches back until his fingers wrap around the tie that holds her wrists.

He yanks her down the bed in one hard motion, forcing her knees to bend as he draws her body to the edge of the bed, keeping his grip on her wrists beneath her. Sansa presses her ankles into the bed, tilting her hips so that her lower back is not pressed against the mound of fists between her and the mattress. 

“Keep your legs open,” he commands roughly. 

Sansa widens her knees, feeling her folds part for him fully. She peers down at him again as he bends over her body, lowering his lips to her stomach. Her skin pebbles and when he brushes his lips lightly across her she trembles. 

Slowly, _torturously_ , he feathers the touch of his mouth lower, whispering over her skin as he grips the bind of her hands with all his strength. Then he presses his tongue against her slit, hard, swiping it up and capturing her clit into a brutal suck. 

“Ahh!” she cries, reflexively pulling her thighs together, but he yanks the bind as a reminder of his instruction and Sansa takes a deep breath as she forces them back apart. 

Jon eats her cunt like a savage, filling his beard with her slick scent as she writhes and whines beneath him. But each time she approaches her precipice, he pulls back, holding her open with his firm grip as she tries to squeeze herself together for relief. 

“Please,” she begs like he’s never heard her do before. “My King, have mercy, please!”

An hour passes, then two, and Sansa begins to cry actual tears as he pulls her closer and closer to the edge without giving her want she needs. His cock remains steadfast in its solid form between his legs, but he never touches it. Jon simply focuses on his task, bathing her pussy with his tongue, drinking from her well as she reaches for her release, and denying her every time. 

“I need it, Jon. Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

“What do you need,” he growls against her cunt. 

“Your cock. Fuck me, please. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything! Just fuck me, _gods_ …” 

Instantly, his grip around her bind releases and Jon stands, pushing in his cock until he fills her completely and Sansa screams. He pumps fast, hard, as he stares down at her crying face. It’s so rough and abrupt that Sansa has to start from the bottom in building her peak again, but before she has a chance to finish he empties his seed into her womb. 

Sansa tries to squeeze him within her as he comes, tries to get there quick enough as the exquisite feel of him pulsing inside her heats her blood, and she almost makes it. But just as she closes her eyes and clenches down, Jon pulls his cock from her body and steps back. 

She gasps for air as he holds her knees apart, watching his seed drip out of her aching cunt, and this time he lets her cool completely without further stoking her need. Then, once she’s settled, he walks away. 

Sansa lays quietly back on the bed as her mind clears and the cold air dries her sweat. Then she feels her ankles come loose from their restraints, but she makes no move to relieve herself anymore. When she sees him come around to the side of the bed, he is holding the whip in his hand and she takes a deep breath. 

Jon’s cock hangs limp between his thighs now and he carefully observes her face as he approaches her with the tool. He knew this was a test, but the fear hardening behind her eyes proves him right. 

“My King?” she asks coolly, keeping her mask as firmly in place as she can. But Jon sees it all now, she can’t hide anymore. 

“Sit up,” he answers gently, cradling a hand behind her neck as he helps her lift her body.

Then, holding the whip by its thick handle, Jon drapes it across her thigh. She peers up to him and he stares back at her, his black eyes filled with unwavering strength, and with the hand not holding the whip he reaches behind her back and frees her from her binds. 

Sansa rubs her numb wrists as Jon pulls the leather tails of the scourge from her skin. She turns her body toward him, draping her legs off the side of the bed as he stands before her, awaiting his command. 

“Stand,” he tells her, and she does, wobbling a bit with the unrestrained use of her body. He twists the tails of the whip, stretching the leather as it tightens, all with Sansa’s gaze fixed upon his action. 

Then he moves so quickly it startles her breath away, but he doesn’t strike her. Jon thrusts the handle toward her in a silent instruction for her to take it from him. Sansa looks up at his face again, confused. “My King?” 

“Your King wants the pleasure of his Queen’s punishment for making her suffer,” he tells her clearly. “And the pleasure of hearing you come as you give it to me.” 

Sansa’s hand closes around the tool and she watches as he puts himself into position, perfectly, exactly in the stance she had placed him the last time. She moves behind him, running her hands along the leather as she fully considers all he has done. 

Then, a small smile shifts her lips as she realizes he’d referred to himself as the King. One hand lowers to touch herself as the other lifts the whip in the air and she strikes. The ripple of his ass with the blow heats her core and she presses her fingers against her clit. 

“Harder,” he commands and she obeys. 

Soon she is unleashing her need to meet his own, strike him over and over as she rubs her dripping cunt. 

“More!” 

Sansa is forced to abandon her masturbation, needing both hands to provide him with what he requires. “Harder, Sansa. Hurt me!”

She hits him over and over as he groans in ecstasy, her thighs rubbing together as she works the whip across his reddened skin. She strikes his ass, his thighs, his back, all as he demands more. Then she halts as he hisses from a blow that makes him lurch forward. 

Jon catches his breath, rubbing his forehead back and forth against the furs. Then, just as she is about to tell him she won’t do anymore he whimpers his final command. 

“Fuck me,” he cries. Then he lifts his head and pushes himself back so that she cannot mistake his meaning. “Fuck me with it, Sansa. Slick it with your cunt and put it in me.”

There is only silence for a moment as she fully takes in what he’s said. Then she lowers the whip to her lips and wets it, slowly and fully, pushing the handle into her body. She sucks two fingers with her mouth and wets them as well, then brings them to his ass, coating his tight entrances in her spit as she fucks her dripping cunt with the whip. 

When he’s readied, Sansa pulls the whip from within her and presses the slippery round tip against his body, easing it forward until he pushes back and the end disappears inside of him. Jon moans desperately and Sansa brings her free hand back to her aching cunt, relieving herself of the arousal this is causing. 

She twists the hard, smooth tip within him, fascinated by the way his ass stretches open for her. Then he grunts in frustration and she pushes it all the way in. Jon presses his head back to the bed, his welted ass swallowing her thrust whole. Then she starts to move back and forth, slowly at first, fucking him as she fucks herself against her hand.

“Faster,” he moans.

Sansa lifts one knee to the bed beside him, balancing herself as she drives into him. She starts to moan as well, her dripping cunt pouring over her thigh as she presses it against his. Jon reaches beneath himself and grips his cock, pumping it hard and fast as they both plummet toward a rushing rock bottom. 

“Fuck!” Jon cries, throwing himself back as she pushes in harder and harder. 

Her body matches her movements as she rocks against him, furiously smearing the slick of her desire and his come across them both. Then she starts to seize and she fills him fully with all the force of her peak, screaming his name as her release gushes against his body and he comes on the furs. 

Sansa eases out of him carefully and drops the whip to the floor as she collapses by his side on the bed. He collapses too and they both lay there in silence for a long time, just breathing, as their bodies settle from all they’ve done. 

Then Sansa pushes herself up the bed around him and slips her legs beneath the furs to settle in for the night. Jon stands, preparing to leave, but to his surprise and complete joy, she pulls back the furs beside her and motions for him to join. 

“Stay with me tonight?”

He can’t believe it is a question, rather than the permission he’s craved since their first night together in this room. It is the ultimate reward.

Jon moves to her side, laying on his stomach as the marks on his back are too raw to lay against the bed. She leans toward him, placing a light kiss on his shoulder, then he wraps his arm around her and holds her close, her face tucked in the crook of his neck, and they both fall asleep.


	7. Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa move forward in their relationship.

He awakens to the feel of a warm salve being smoothed down his back and over his bum. The sensation is incredible and his stiff cock presses harder into the mattress beneath him. He moans and turns his head to the side so he can see her. 

“Good morning, Jon.” She smiles at him, softly.

“Good morning, Sansa.”

Her hair has a glow surrounding it, the morning light spilling through the window behind her, and it makes her look so young. She has it piled high on her head, not expertly braided, but simply a mess of curls lifted away from her neck. Jon notices her hair is tied back with a piece of leather, like a small belt, with a buckle securing it tightly in its chaos. 

She hasn’t dressed yet, she’s only wearing a linen robe with pale purple flowers embroidered on it, and Jon can smell the scent of cinnamon and cloves in the air. He wonders if it is the salve or perhaps her skin and he wants to pull her close enough to find out for sure.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, rolling to one side, and she nods. He lifts his hand and traces his fingers down the side of her face, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear and brushing her jaw with his thumb. 

Jon moves his hand to her breast as Sansa continues to massage the salve into his backside. He caresses her through her robe, then dips his fingers beneath the edge of it and pulls the material back. He plays with her nipple, watching it stiffen against his touch, then Sansa leans down and kisses him softly as he slips the robe off of her entirely.

Jon rolls to his back, ignoring her concern for his pain. It doesn’t hurt anymore, and if it did he wouldn’t be able to feel it. All he can feel is her, and when she lets him pull her closer, pull her on top of him, it’s a pleasure no pain could override. Not even the stabs of death.

She moves her hand down to his erection between them and he groans into her mouth as she coats his cock with the salve still on her hands. It is warm, invigorating, and strange, but Jon is learning to expect such things when he’s with her now, and he welcomes each new moment. She lifts herself onto him, sinking down again as his thick cock penetrates slowly into her hot, wet cunt. 

“Jon,” she sighs as she lowers herself further. 

He holds onto her hips and watches her face twist with pleasure as each inch of him pulses deeper and deeper until he is lifting his hips, trying to reach a little more. The pressure builds within him and his fingers dig into her flesh. 

“ _Sansa_ …” 

The heat of her slick trickles down his cock as she slides herself back up, just as slowly, just as torturously. She leans down as her hips rise and she teases one of her nipples against his lips. 

“May I taste you, my Queen?” 

“Mhmm…” She leans closer and he sucks her nipple into his mouth, groaning in gratitude. “Do you like that, Jon?” 

He groans again and a muffled, “ _Yes,_ ” vibrates through her tit. 

Sansa whines, riding up and down on his cock faster. He continued to suck on her pink tip until she pulls it away and presses the other through his waiting lips. He grunts and slurps greedily at her body and the wet smack of her cunt on his balls has him gripping her bouncing ass with all his strength. 

“Oh gods, Jon, your cock feels so good. It’s so big and so deep. Does it feel good to be inside of me?” 

“ _Fuck…_ it’s incredible, Sansa.” He moves his mouth to her neck, panting more desperately as she bounces up and down even faster. Then his hips jut as his balls begin to tighten already. “Sansa, I’m too close!”

She stops bouncing and instead rolls her hips in a rapid circle, leaning down so that her lips are beside his ear. “Yes, Jon, do you want to come? Tell me.”

“Oh gods, yes. I want to fill you Sansa, please…”

“Mmm, not yet Jon, I’m almost there, but not yet...”

He lets out a full breath and waits a moment before taking in another, but he controls himself.

“Tell me what you want, Jon. Tell me the truth.” Her hip swerve in a way that makes it hard for him to think.

“The… the truth?” He matches her movements with his own, thrusting up into her in a deep rhythm. 

“Mmm… yes, that’s it Jon. Don’t stop, just like that.” 

“Sansa!”

“Tell me, Jon.”

“I want to come inside of you, I want to fill you with my seed.”

“Yes, Jon I know.” She fucks him ruthlessly now. “You told me that yesterday, when you fucked me on my father’s desk, but you stopped before you told me all of it. Didn’t you?”

“Sansa–”

“Tell me now, Jon. Tell me what you desire of me.” 

She fucks him brutally and he chokes on the air as he tries desperately to settle his balls and clear his brain. Then she takes one of his nipples between her fingers and twists it in a tight clamp. 

“Ah, fuck!”

“Say it, Jon.” 

“I want to marry you, I want to be your King and I want you to be my wife.” He is panting now, straining as hard as he can, dying to come apart. “I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything, Sansa.” 

“Oh gods, Jon. I’m–”

“That’s it. Come for me, sweet girl. Come on my cock.”

“Oh yes! I’m… Jon, I’m…”

“Please!”

“Not yet, Jon. Not yet.”

“Oh fuck!”

“That’s it, right there, oh yes, yes, fuck!”

He feels her clenching down on him as she grinds her hips hard and fast, her fingernails digging wounds into his chest. 

“I’m coming, Jon, I’m coming!” 

Her cunt pulses and jerks, and he feels a pressure building against the head of his cock deep inside her, but it isn’t coming from him. 

“Sansa!”

“No, Jon, not yet. Don’t come, not yet. I’m still, oh _gods_!” She screams and something seems to explode around him. 

He whimpers but she just closes her eyes, shaking her head no as she convulses on his cock like she’s having a fit. Jon bites the inside of his mouth to keep himself from coming, but then liquid squirts from her cunt, wetting his hips and he begins to lose control. 

“Sansa, I’m–”

“No!” 

She pulls off of him and presses her still throbbing cunt against the side of his cock, smashing it flat against his stomach, continuing to gush a river over his shaft. 

“No, Jon!” 

But it is too late. He groans savagely and his seed begins to spurt from his cock in vicious thrusts, spraying up along Jon’s body, covering his stomach and chest, and a bit even hits his face. 

He lifts a hand from her hip to wipe his cheek but she grabs his wrist and pins it back against the bed. Jon takes a deep breath, his cock still pulsing beneath the press of her cunt, his hips still damp from her shower, and he pants with exhaustion as he watches her face to see what she will do next. 

“Keep it there,” she commands, pressing his wrist down harder. He nods, and then she moves his other wrist above his head as well. When she releases him, he remains where she put him. 

“You came without my permission,” she informs him as she traces a finger down the side of his face, gathering some of his spill in disappointment. She shifts her pussy slowly back and forth along his still hard cock. “You deserve to be covered in your own sin, don’t you think?” 

She pushes her sticky finger into his mouth and he immediately sucks it clean, nodding in agreement with her assessment of his failure. Then she stands from the bed, leaving him soiled in both their releases, with his hands stretch above his head, and she pulls her robe back over her, hiding her body from him in added punishment. 

“Don’t move.”

“Of course not, Your Grace.”

She disappears beyond the foot of the bed and when she returns she has gather the two restraints she uses to secure his hands to the bed, and does so again now. Jon can feel her making them tighter than she has before and wonders what tortures await him that require such measures. To his surprise, however, she keeps his ankles free. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you did to me last night,” she says calmly, running her hand down the length of his body. 

Jon trembles, trying to keep as still as he can, and almost wishes she had secured his legs, too, as they twitch when her fingers trace the insides of his thighs. “Your Grace?” He tries to recall what she means, but her touch is all he can focus on now.

“You remember, when you had me tied down, you tortured me and wouldn’t let me come.”

“Yes,” he moans as she grazes the back of her hand across his balls, “Please forgive me, my love.”

“Forgive? Now, what would that teach you, Jon? No, I’m afraid I’ll have to find some form of punishment for you. Only one night of allowing you control and already you’ve forgotten yourself with me this morning. If I’m to have you by my side as the King, I need to be sure you still know your place in my chambers.”

“Sansa…”

She glares at him. “Were you lying to me before, Jon? Because I told you I demand the truth, always.”

He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. She waits, saying nothing, no longer touching him. There is only a sobering quiet between them, then he looks her in the eye and confesses once and for all, “No, Sansa. I wasn’t lying. I want to marry you, I want to be your King, if you’ll take me.”

A small smile curves her lips and Jon thinks he sees relief in her eyes, but then her stare hardens again and she nods. 

“Good, then it’s settled. Now about your punishment…” 

Jon takes a deep breath and his head begins to spin. He suddenly feels as though he’s been resurrected again, that he entered this room last night as one thing and he’ll be leaving it today as something entirely different. He will be hers, forever, but he will also be a king again and that frightens him. He isn’t sure he has the strength, but then she touches him and he knows he is invincible. 

“What should it be then, Jon?” Sansa shifts her hand to his cock, already half hard again, and she holds it in a gentle grip. “What does my King deserve?”

“Whatever would please you. Deny my pleasure as I did yours, Sansa, whip me, anything you want.”

She squeezes his cock in her hand and it hardens even more. “Mmm… no I don’t think so, Jon. I don’t think I will deny you.” She strokes him then. “In fact, I think we should try something different.”

He swallows, stiffening to a strain now, and she continues to pump steadily up and down his shaft. Jon’s eyes stare down at his thick tip, dripping, and then he releases a crude groan as Sansa’s soft thumb smears across the cleft. 

“Always so eager, aren’t you my King? Always ready to spread your seed.”

“Only for you.” 

His eyes lift to hers and she smiles at him. “Then you shall release it, whenever you need, as often as you can.”

Jon is truly confused now, but her hand keeps pumping and soon his balls tighten again. “Fuck, Sansa, I’m already…”

“Go ahead, Jon. Come for me, my King.”

He bucks his hips against her hand and cries out, his second load of the morning spraying wildly across his body instead of inside hers, adding to his first mess that has already begun to dry. Jon remembers to turn his face away this time, and he closes his eyes in strain as she squeezes the last drops from the tip of his throbbing cock. 

When he looks at her again she is still holding him in her grip, and it is beginning to hurt. Then he watches as she reaches up with her other hand and removes the strap of leather that she’d used to tie back her hair. 

The wave of red curls cascading down her shoulders distracts Jon to the point that he doesn’t fully realize what she is doing until she’s nearly finished. But a rough tug on his balls calls his attention back to his cock where he sees her wrapping the leather strap around him. 

“Wh… what…” he is still breathless from spending, but Sansa finishes securing his member before it can start to deflate and Jon feels his cock still straining at full strength. She moves her hand back to him and trances the tips of her fingers lightly up the length of his sensitive skin and his hips twitch involuntarily at the torturous stimulation. “Oh fuck…” 

She slaps his cock once and he winces, twisting his hips as his ankles dig into the bed. Then she touches him softly again. The strange pain he feels, unable to properly recover from his orgasm, every touch sending jolts of sensation through his entire body, it thrills him and makes him groan in agony at the same time. 

She slaps him again and he hisses. “Do you like that, Jon?”

“Yes,” he admits regretfully. 

His eyes are still squeezed shut, and the pain spurs on his arousal, filling his cock even more. She slaps him again. The pain he can take, the sharp stings of her strike, but the thought of coming again already makes him fear for his sanity.

She sits back and reaches to the table next to the bed. He follows her movements with his eyes and watches as she dips her fingers into the salve. She smears the warm oil between her fingers, coating each one, then rubs her hands together and spreads the oil until both her hands are shining and slick. 

Sansa touches him again, holding his tightly wrapped package gently in her palm, smoothing her thumb back and forth across his scrotum. Then she squeezes is balls in her hand and Jon lifts his hips from the bed in a sudden jerk. Sansa releases them again and soothes them with her palm, smearing the oil over them, and then up and down his cock. 

The warm, soothing sensation of the oil relaxes him at last, and for a moment he lays back as she softly smears it over his raw, painful erection with both hands. She massages his balls gently, too, and he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth at her touch. Soon he realizes his cock is not relaxing but instead hardening even more, the pressure of the strap tightens in a sharp sear.

“Please…” he begs, but he’s not sure what for. “Sansa, it’s too much.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Jon. Why don’t we see just how much you can take, shall we?” 

Sansa leans forward and pulls him into her mouth, deep in the back of her throat, and Jon throws his head back against the pillow, howling. She works him hard and fast, spit pooling from her mouth and soaking his cock. Jon doesn’t know if he’s going to come again, or if he already is, as the intensity of it all is nearly blinding. 

She continues to bob her head up and down, faster, slurping loudly, and Jon pants and moans, his wrists bruising as he pulls against his restraints. Then she lets him plop out of her lips, his cock slapping back against his stomach before it stands straight again, propped up by the leather strap around him. 

Sansa slips her fingers bellow his balls, tracing the leather strap holding them taut, then slides down the crease of his ass, spreading the oil down to his hole. Jon opens his legs for her instinctively as he feels her reaching for his entrance, and he prays her shift in focus might bring him some relief to his aching cock. He is mistaken though, and as she slips two fingers into him, she brings her other hand back to his cock, and her mouth as well. 

Now Jon is thrashing about, being fucked by her hands and her mouth, and all he can do is groan. His body convulses, his anus tightens, then she loosens the strap and his balls explode, filling her mouth with another load before he can offer any hint of a warning that it is about to come. 

She takes it all, but does not swallow, keeping her mouth tight around his tip until the last pulse has pooled onto her tongue. Then she pulls her fingers from his ass and pushes them through his gaping lips, prying them open wide before she leans over him and spits his own seed into his mouth. Fortunately, it isn’t much, since this is his third load of the morning, but he obediently swallows it all and Sansa moans in approval. 

“That’s a good boy,” she smiles down at him. Then she unties his hand restraints and stands from the bed. He watches her as he rubs his wrists, still unable to sit up just yet, and sees her start to dress. “Take a bath and then join me in the Great Hall, Jon. We have an announcement to make to the Northern lords.”

Jon does sit up then, and she watches him through the mirror as understanding unfolds into dread across his face. Sansa smiles a little, then moves to him again as she tightens her belt around her waist. 

“Don’t be afraid,” she teases him before kissing him sweetly on the cheek, “I won’t let anyone murder you.”

He sighs a laugh, then pulls her closer to him and gives her a proper kiss. “As long as you’re beside me, Sansa, I could never be afraid of anything again.” 

She runs a hand through his hair and then rests it gently on his back. “This is your last chance to change your mind, Jon. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” he answers decisively, then he faces her more fully and looks into her eyes. “I may never feel like I deserve you, but I’m ready to be the King you need me to be, and I’m ready to be yours forever. I promise. I love you, Sansa.” 

She smiles again, and kisses him deeply. “Good, then I’ll see you in the council meeting, my King.” She grazes her hand across his sensitive balls, making him wince, then she whispers in his ear, “Behave yourself and I’ll let you try to put a babe in me tonight. Don’t and you’ll be swallowing it again.” 

Jon opens his mouth, but he finds he is speechless. Sansa walks to the door, and before she leaves she turns back to him and adds, “I love you, too, Jon.”

***

“You’ve got to be joking,” Glover spits. 

Jon growls at him, causing the man to move back a bit in his seat, but otherwise he restrains himself from responding. Instead, Sansa continues.

“This is my wish. I ask you to respect that, my lord.”

“Well,” Lady Hornwood chimes in, glaring at the old man. “I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Glover defends, boorishly. “You don’t see why I might have a problem with our Queen marrying this traitor, who gave the North to that–”

“Don’t you start with that noise again,” she interrupts. “I can’t listen to another of your long retellings of things you barely know anything about, considering you weren’t there.” 

“Well, I –” Glover blusters, but the lady persists. 

“Besides, you can’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.”

“I certainly did _not_.”

“Oh, horseshit.” Sansa nearly gasps at the woman’s crude language, and Jon suppresses a smirk. “We all did.”

“You did?” Sansa asks in genuine surprise. 

Lady Hornwood turns her scowl from Lord Glover and then softens as she looks at her Queen. “It is all a bit obvious, my dear.” The old woman smiles, and Sansa believes she sees something of a glint in her eyes. Then she turns to address the room again. 

“The Queen marrying her cousin is the most beneficial arrangement for the North. He’s of the North, he was raised by Lord Stark, he is the White Wolf.” Lady Hornwood turns to Jon then and adds, “And he saved us all. They both did. If our Queen has chosen him, then I stand behind her, now and always.”

“Now and always,” other voices begin to echo back. Glover scowls, but keeps the rest of his thoughts to himself. 

Sansa looks around at her subjects and finds herself relieved to have their support – she’d expected them to put up more of a fight – but now she realizes they are just as happy to have Jon home as she is. When the crowd settles again, Sansa takes Jon’s hand and all attention falls to her.

“I see no reason to wait. We will be married in a fortnight. That should give us just enough time to inform the realm, along with my sister.” 

She feels his hand flinch in hers, and Sansa has to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing at the dread she knows must be flooding him now.


End file.
